This Divide
by WhiteWinterDragon
Summary: It is said that opposites attract. The rivalry between Noxus and Demacia is ancient, but when the world is threatened by the prospect of another rune war, the Sinister Blade and the Might of Demacia must form an unusual alliance and undertake a world-spanning journey for the good of all. Can love find a place in the hearts of two people who are as different as night and day?
1. The Might of Demacia I

A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

Now, with the formalities out of the way; this is my first fanfic within this fandom. I can't say that I have played the game all that much, but I will try to stick to the lore as much as possible, as I spin my story and try to do these amazing characters justice. Feel free to leave a review and let me know what you guys think, feed-back is a great source of motivation, inspiration and improvement. In any case, I hope that you will enjoy reading my story.

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter I

The Might of Demacia

The sun was at its zenith, its warm rays bathing the rocky landscape mercilessly. The air was heavy and dry on the throat and no breeze brought relief from the scorching heat. A group of men, fifty or so in number had sought refuge in the shade of a narrow, rocky canyon carved by a shallow river; the cool, clear water a welcome gift for the wary company. For two days they had been on the march, making their way across desert and through brush, clad in heavy armor with barely any rest. They were not called the Dauntless Vanguard for nothing and advancing into hostile, enemy territory at a reckless pace was not unusual for the most prestigious branch of the Demacian military. Still, even the most resilient soldiers could only go so long without water.

Scouts had reported Noxian activity in an area across the river, only a few miles east from their current position, not far from an old stone bridge which served as the only means to cross the canyon for several miles in either direction, making it strategically important. Gaelin, the Vanguard's Commander, a seasoned and accomplished warrior in his fifties, wanted to set up a small advance force there to hold the position until the main force could arrive; preferably before the Noxians had a chance to do the same, hence why the Dauntless Vanguard was in such a rush.

One of the men, very young by comparison to most of the others, stood by the water's edge and took in his surroundings with a scrutinizing gaze. His jaw tightened at the memory of the reprimand he and the Prince had received for questioning the sense of this endeavor the night before the Vanguard had departed the main camp. Letting out a sigh, he knelt to splash some water in his face, trying to wipe away some of the dust and sweat. He had managed to convince the Commander to at least send a few scouts ahead, but they had yet to return and though he had voiced his concerns on what that might imply, the stubborn, old veteran would not hear it, either failing or refusing to realize how vulnerable they were, going in blind like this. He let his gaze wander over the worn faces of his comrades. Their spirits were high enough, but he could tell from the look in their eyes that they were exhausted from the last two days' exertions. If push did come to shove, many of them would not be able to fight to their fullest.

His eyes fastened on the steep cliff on the opposite side of the river. Somewhere beyond those rocky outcroppings the Noxians were probably making their way to the bridge as well. A humorless, low chuckle escaped his lips at the thought. They would just have to get there first and hold the position with what they had, failure was not an option. He splashed his face one more time before shaking the excess water out of his bangs.

"Lieutenant Crownguard."

The young man straightened to his full height. Though he was still in his growing years his massive frame dwarfed that of his commander by nearly a head. "Sir," he said curtly looking down at the veteran.

"Tell the men we are setting out again I want to reach that bridge before the sun sets, and make sure they are prepared for battle, from here on out we must be ready to deal with Noxian scum at all times." Commander Gaelin narrowed his dark, stern eyes, as he tried to read his Lieutenant's blank expression. "Is something bothering you Garen?" he then asked in a low voice, so only they could hear.

"Nothing I have not already brought to your attention Sir." Garen replied, his voice even and equally low.

Commander Gaelin nodded slowly, a grim expression on his grizzled face. "We are the Vanguard," he said. "We will not falter."

Garen had both heard and repeated those words many times before. "Yes Sir."

Commander Gaelin inclined his head slightly, satisfied that his point had come across, and gave his Lieutenant's pauldron a pat before walking off.

Animals were smart enough to stay in the shade this time of day, soldiers were not so privileged. Less than five minutes after the Lieutenant had voiced the commander's orders, the Vanguard was once again on the move.

ooOoo

A myriad of red, purple and orange shades adorned the sky when they could finally lay their eyes on the bridge. Though there was no sign of Noxians the Vanguard approached with caution. With the Commander's permission Garen went ahead with a handful of soldiers, scouting out the surrounding foliage in an attempt to avoid a potential ambush. He pushed his senses to their limit as they entered the first thicket, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement and listening for the sound of snapping twigs and rustled leaves. When nothing spectacular occurred during the fifteen minutes that followed, he was finally convinced no one lay in wait for them and regrouped with the rest of the Vanguard. Though Garen thought the men deserved a break after their long march, he wasted no time before shouting out orders left and right, setting up camp and stationing a couple of forward sentries on the other side of the bridge. They may have gotten here first, but until the main force caught up with them, they would be like sitting ducks.

By the time his orders had been fulfilled the setting sun had been replaced by a full moon and the heat that had been so taxing during the hours of the day had disappeared with it, the air now crisp with the barest hint of frost. Garen stood at the edge of the camp, his gaze fixated on the modest stone bridge not fifty yards from where he stood. It didn't look like much, only ten feet wide and about thrice as long, devoid of any form of ornamentation. If he knew anything about Noxians, Demacian blood would be spilled for the sake of those stones soon enough. A white wisp escaped his nostrils as he let out a snort. The Noxians would have to fight and bleed for every inch he would make sure of that.

ooOoo

Another sunrise, another sunset, another day of suffocating heat followed by another night where strange sounds filled the frosty air and a ghostly moon played tricks on sleep deprived eyes. Time began to blur with nothing to distinguish it save the change between night and day and with each passing moment, Garen felt an uneasiness grow, as they spent hour after hour seated in the little shade provided by the thorny, low bushes that ran along the edge of their camp. There was no way the Noxians had failed to notice their presence here, so why had there been no attacks? What were they waiting for? Garen tugged at the long blue scarf he was wearing around his neck to loosen it a little. His men said he was crazy for wearing it and in this heat he was almost inclined to agree with them. Almost. It was given to him by his younger sister Luxanna, as a parting gift when he joined the military. That was nearly three years ago now and he had not seen his precious sister since. He scowled at his water skin before he downed the last remaining drops. A wayward droplet fell on his breastplate and he watched with grim amusement as it sizzled on the scolding metal for a second before disappearing. In theory they were less than fifty yards from a water source, but to reach it they would have to scale a hundred feet of steep, treacherous cliff. Dispatching a small party to fetch water further down the river was also out of the question, they were stretched thin as they were and simply could not spare the man power needed to carry enough of the precious liquid. Food was also starting to become a concern. The dry landscape offered little to scavenge in the immediate vicinity, forcing them to ration the few supplies they had brought with them from the main camp. Their situation was dire, if the main force did not catch up soon, the Noxians wouldn't have to finish them off because the desert would do it for them. Now that he thought about it that was probably exactly what they were waiting for.

Garen had barely finished the thought before one of the scouts, a man he recognized as Atticus came running up to him, gulping for air, beads of sweat trickling down his ruddy face. "They are coming," he managed to gasp between heaving breaths. Garen did not have to ask who 'they' were, the wild look in the man's eyes was telling enough.

"How many?"

"At least a hundred Sir."

Garen nodded once before getting to his feet. The wait was over; the Noxians were finally making their move. "To arms men! I want a perimeter blocking our side of that bridge! Shields and lances to the front, move!" His deep, booming voice carried his commands across the camp and all around him soldiers were springing to their feet. Even starved, thirsty and exhausted they were still the best Demacia had to offer and within moments they had taken up their positions by the bridge, where Garen joined them. Commander Gaelin was already there, his gruff voice easily distinguished despite all the noise.

"Stand your ground men! We will hold them on the bridge!"

They were heavily outnumbered, but if they could keep the battle by the bridge, they could use it as a chokepoint and prevent the Noxians from swarming them with sheer force in numbers, making the odds a little more even; for a time at least. Garen eyed the Noxian forces as they approached the opposite side of the bridge. Clad in black and red armor, their bodies obscured by the rising dust, they marched slowly, but steadily forward. He let his hand close around the hilt of the large two-handed sword he was carrying on his back, drawing it from its sheath and raising it before him. For generations it had been passed down from father to son in the Crownguard family. The blade was marred from previous battles, but the gleam and sharpness of the metal revealed the devotion it received from its wielder.

Step by step, second by second the moment of battle neared and the whole world seemed to briefly stand still, before it came back to life with full force when the Noxians finally charged, their steps vigorous and their battle cries loud and fierce. Garen let his voice join the roar that erupted from the ranks of Demacian soldiers as they rallied to the name of their beloved city-state in response. "Blood for Noxus!" and "Demacia!" blended as the two armies collided. The sounds of clashing steel, shattering shields and the throaty screams of the dying were deafening and the smell of blood, sweat, leather and dust permeated the suffocating air. Despite the chaos all around him, Garen could hear the steady sound of his own pounding heart, the rush of blood and adrenalin making him acutely aware of himself and his surroundings. He could feel the tension in each rippling muscle before it was released with every devastating swing of his sword, the sprays of crimson left in its wake vivid before his eyes, as he carved his way forward.

"It's the hand! The hand is here!" at those words Garen stopped his onslaught and shifted his gaze to the figure emerging from the Noxian ranks on the other side of the bridge. The heat and dust obscured the man to the point where his visage seemed to be shimmering. Dark steel plate-armor covered him from neck to toes. A man-sized great axe was held firmly in the grip of his right hand, the metallic scratching sound it made as he let it drag against the stone seemed to drown out all other noise on the battlefield. He was even taller than Garen himself with a calm, confident expression on his scarred face and eyes that held the promise of death. The Noxian soldiers almost scrambled to get out of his way, they knew better than to get caught between their general and his prey. Garen knew General Darius by reputation and name only, but as the man started tearing through the Demacian ranks as if they were made of paper, it was clear that he more than lived up to his title and his renown as a ruthless but formidable fighter and Garen had to grudgingly admit he was both an intimidating and awe inspiring sight. He shook his head to clear it of his treacherous thoughts, reprimanding himself for his indiscretion. It would not do to harbor any admiration, even a grudging one for an enemy who would spit in the face of all Demacian values. He had to focus.

The blood General continued his approach at an even, undisturbed pace, cutting down anyone in his way, and Garen realized with mounting dread that the he was headed straight for Commander Gaelin. It was a fight Gaelin could never win; Darius was younger, stronger and faster and Garen knew that no amount of experience would save the old veteran when pitted against such a formidable foe. Even so the old Commander stood his ground, calmly awaiting the inevitable. _'We are the Vanguard. We will not falter.'_ Gaelin's words echoed in Garen's mind when he saw the first exchange of blows between the Hand of Noxus and the Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard.

Three strikes were all it took. Gaelin parried with great skill, but succumbed to the overwhelming force of the blows that shattered his guard until he lay bleeding and defenseless on his back, arms raised in an instinctive, but useless attempt to shield himself from the fatal blow everyone knew would come. Garen stopped thinking. With a speed that took the Noxian soldiers before him completely by surprise and an absolute disregard for defense he charged forward, swinging his sword in a horizontal arc and building momentum until he was practically spinning, cleaving anyone foolish or unfortunate enough to cross his path of carnage. He saw the bloodied blade of the Noxian General's great axe glinting in the afternoon sun, as it was poised high above the head of its wielder just before it bore down on Gaelin's broken form.

It was not the dull sound of a man getting split in two, but the loud ringing of steel against steel that cut through the air and cleared the fog that had taken residence in Garen's mind at the sight of his Commander's peril. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he had somehow managed to block the great axe's descend, a numbness in his fingers and a throbbing from his wrists to his elbows a testimony to how much of an achievement that was. He should have felt proud, but with his head clear there was room for thoughts and his first was: _what now?_ He felt his breath hitch in his throat, not sure if he had remembered to breathe. Cold sweat made his bangs stick to his forehead and he could feel his arms tremble under the pressure put against his blade. Gaelin lay still and soaked in blood between his feet, no one could tell him what to do. _Fuck!_

"Lieutenant?"

The voice was soft, almost a whisper; full of fear, doubt. Garen couldn't even tell which of his men had spoken, but it was sobering. With their Captain down they turned to their Lieutenant. He lifted his gaze slightly to look his opponent straight in the eye. Darius bore an expression of mild irritation, but there was also a hint of intrigue as he sized up his new challenger. Garen swallowed, hoping against odds that his voice would carry and not stutter.

 _We are the Vanguard. We will not falter._ " Demacia!"

It came out louder than he intended but it was clear and it was enough. Two of his men had the sense to drag the wounded Commander away from the Noxian General and their Lieutenant as they broke off the deadlock between them and proceeded to clash with increasing ferocity. Every blow sent jolts up his arms and shook his frame to the core. Darius's attacks were relentless and it was all Garen could do to keep parrying. He was left with no reprieve to use for counter attacks and he was forced to rely heavily on his instincts and sharp intuition to make up for the immense difference in experience between them, but somehow with no small amount of luck he was holding his ground. Darius was grinning now, his teeth bared and his stare intense like a wild dog that had sniffed out a particularly tasty treat it had yet to reach. Garen grit his teeth and glared back with all the determination and fervor his azure eyes could convey, even as every fiber in his body was burning from the effort of barely keeping up.

He didn't know how long they continued like this, seconds, a minute? Time seemed meaningless when faced with imminent death and he knew his luck would run out sooner or later, he could only hope it would be later. The hollow sound his sword made when he blocked an overhead strike aimed at his left shoulder served as his only warning. Instinctively he jumped backwards, as the blade of the antique sword shattered near the hilt. It was not enough. He felt the great axe sunder his armor and carve a gash from the left side of his chest and all the way down to the right side of his pelvis. His attempt at dodging had saved his life, for now anyway. It was a flesh wound, but the feeling of a steady flow of warm, sticky liquid down his stomach told him it was bad enough. He might not be spilling his guts, but he was losing a lot of blood very fast. Sending the remains of his sword a quick glance he supposed it didn't really matter that he risked bleeding out. He would not be able to ward off the next attack and retreat was out of the question. Garen watched, transfixed, struck by a strange sense of apathy, as the Noxian General positioned himself to finish him off with a horizontal swing. _So this is how it ends?_ He had always known he might fall in battle, he thought he had come to terms with that fact years ago, but now standing at the precipice his thoughts wandered briefly to his little sister, to his best friend, to all the things he had wanted to do and he found he could not simply accept it. With no other options he leapt forward. He felt the stem of the great axe bruise his ribs, but he managed to avoid the blade and for the first time during their fight Garen saw an opportunity to attack. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his chest, he capitalized on the fact that his rather unorthodox evasion tactic had actually managed to catch the General by surprise and slugged him in the face. The sickening crunch and the feeling of bone crumbling from the impact of his armored fist were immensely satisfying, but Garen had no time to savor it. A sharp, searing pain shot through his left side as he was pulled forward and next thing he knew he was on his hands and knees.

He tried to get his bearings, tried to stand, but his world was reeling, his vision blurry. All movement around him seemed hazy, as if seen through a veil or smokescreen. He tried to focus on his hand; a pool of crimson was growing steadily beneath it. He coughed, only now noticing how hard it was to breathe and it took him a ridiculous amount of effort to lift his head enough to once again meet the gaze of his opponent. He was surprised by the look he found there. There was fury for certain, but also… Acknowledgement? It was an expression he couldn't place. Suddenly shouting and the sound of Demacian horns blearing pierced the air. The main force.

To Garen's surprise Darius lowered his axe to his side, a low chuckle escaping his bruised, bloodied lips. "It would seem luck is on your side today." With that he turned around and despite all the noise and his slipping consciousness Garen could swear he heard him say: "If you survive, come fight me again, when you are old enough to grow a proper beard." Once again the sound of the great axe dragging against the stone cut through the air, only this time it left a trail of blood as the Hand of Noxus walked away, disappearing in the dust.

"Garen! Garen! Hang in there."

Jarvan's voice. He could tell it was Jarvan's voice. He felt a pair of strong arms grab hold of his arm and shoulder, gently turning him so he was lying on his back. When had he face planted the bridge anyway? He could hear Jarvan talk, yet the words and their meaning eluded him as he tried to focus on the Prince's swimming face hovering above his own. It was to no avail though and before he could be bothered to feel annoyed about it, he was lost to blissful oblivion.

ooOoo

Everything hurt, a dull, throbbing kind of pain. If he just kept his eyes closed, maybe it would go away. Wishful thinking. Garen opened his eyes slightly, blinking in an attempt to focus his vision and get an idea of his surroundings. He was on his back, there was canvas above him. He recognized the color and texture of the fabric. An officer's tent most likely. The cot he was lying on was soft and comfortable as far as military standards go. A thin blanket had been draped over him and someone had stripped him from the waist up and bandaged his wounds.

"Finally awake I see."

Garen whipped his head around, letting out an involuntary groan, when the motion sent a jolt of pain through his left side. Jarvan was sitting on a chair a few yards away, near the tent-opening. His face was set in a serious expression, his jaw clenched and his posture almost rigid. Garen grit his teeth from discomfort as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position to better be able to talk to his oldest friend. At this Jarvan hurried over and put a hand on his uninjured shoulder, gently pressing him back down.

"Take it easy. You lost a lot of blood and don't want to risk reopening your wounds, trust me," he said and pulled the chair over so he could sit by the bedside. Garen would have objected that he was healthy enough to sit up properly at least, but the tired, worried look on Jarvan's face made him hold his tongue, it was clear that his friend had missed out on more sleep than he should.

Garen sighed and let himself sink back down on the cot. "What happened after I..?" He trailed off and looked up at the Prince expectantly.

"Well… You practically collapsed in my arms as soon as I got to you. It took three of us to haul you all the way back from the frontline, that was two days ago." Jarvan paused for a few seconds as if unsure how to continue, before letting out a sigh. "There is no gentle way for me to say this. You were victorious, you managed to hold the bridge long enough for us to arrive, I expect you know how better than I." Garen noticed how Jarvan avoided his gaze before he continued: "But counting you there are only sixteen members of the Vanguard left alive and four of those will never be able to fight again. If they survive their injuries that is."

Jarvan's face fell and the two of them shared a moment of silence, as Garen let the words sink in. Fifty men he had known and fought beside for nearly three years and only twelve were left including himself. He clenched his fists, anger burning in his core. It was directed at the Noxians, but dammit he had known from the start that the whole operation was a fool's errand, if he'd made his superiors listen, no, Demacians did not make excuses for their failures. If he'd fought harder on the bridge, maybe… his mind raced with all kinds of possible outcomes, but all of them came down to the fact that he had fought his damn hardest and it just hadn't been enough. He could blame no one else. "I'm sorry I didn't do more."

"Don't you start!" Garen was surprised by the anger in his friend's voice. "Commander Gaelin told us what you did for him before he succumbed to his wounds. He said you were a damn fool albeit a brave one. There was nothing you could do. " So the Commander was dead too. Garen supposed he should not be surprised, considering the state he had been in when he had been carried off, but it was still hard for him to wrap his mind around. He half expected the old veteran to enter the tent and shout some colorful profanities at him for acting rashly in the midst of battle.

Jarvan must have noticed his somber expression and sighed. "Sometimes Garen…" The prince shook his head and when he looked back up there was steel in his gaze. "Death is inevitable. One can only hope to avoid defeat." Garen nodded slightly, it was a small consolation, but he appreciated the notion nonetheless.

"So what happens now?" Jarvan stared at his face intently for a moment. It was obvious that with only twelve men left and no commander, circumstances did not bode well for the future of the Vanguard and Garen did not have to ask about it specifically for Jarvan to understand what he meant by his question.

"I might as well be honest with you, since you will hear it sooner or later anyway." Garen narrowed his eyes at this, he did not like where this conversation was going. "Relax it's not what you think." Jarvan added upon seeing the change in his expression. "The Vanguard is not getting disbanded. Rather I think my father intends to fill up its ranks again, probably expand its numbers too and get it back to full strength."

Garen lifted his eyebrows at this. He was relieved they wouldn't just get disbanded, but the Vanguard had always been comprised of elite soldiers who had managed to distinguish themselves one way or another. In fact he was the only exception having joined their ranks at the 'ripe' age of fifteen, much to the chagrin of the veterans until he had earned his place among them. He was a bit skeptical at the prospect of having a vast majority of newcomers in the force, but then again they needed more people, no one could deny that. "Whoever gets appointed as the new Commander is going to have one hell of a task getting all the new additions up to speed."

Jarvan nodded slowly and looked away. "Yeah, about that, my father seems to think you are the right man for that task." Garen stared at his friend for a moment, searching his face for any sign that might indicate it was a joke. Jarvan must have noted the disbelief evident in Garen's expression and added: "I'm serious. As soon as you are deemed fit to travel we set out for Demacia, I assume you will receive your promotion officially once we get there." Garen wasn't sure what to say. It was a great honor no doubt, but a huge responsibility too. A firm grip on his uninjured shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts. Jarvan's lips curled up in a lopsided, sympathetic smile and Garen felt pretty certain that the Prince knew exactly what thoughts were racing through his mind, being no stranger to them himself.

"Don't worry too much about it, for now at least, just try and get some more rest, the healers say you are making an unnaturally fast recovery, let's try to keep it that way." With that Jarvan gave him a few pats on the shoulder, got to his feet and left the tent, leaving Garen to his thoughts. Garen closed his eyes, but sleep would not come and he found himself wondering how he was supposed to react. His mother would be thrilled, no doubt. He grimaced slightly at the idea of being dragged around ballroom by the arm, getting introduced left and right to noblemen and more specifically their daughters, put on display like a prize stallion. He groaned. With his eighteenth birthday coming up she was bound to push even harder for an arranged marriage, and Garen found himself half wishing that the Hand of Noxus had finished the job. _Brilliant…_

ooOoo

"Brilliant," the clear voice of Lelia Crownguard echoed through the hall as she stood on her toes in an attempt to flatten the unruly, auburn hair of her son. "I cannot reach dear, you have grown so much since the last time I saw you." Garen sighed and dipped his head, knowing all too well that objecting would get him nowhere. "There. Now let me have a look at you." She raised a single exquisitely plucked, blond, eyebrow and looked at him expectantly. Garen rolled his eyes and turned around on the spot under his mother's scrutinizing gaze. She did not look satisfied. "You are not honestly thinking to wear that ghastly thing, are you?" she said indicating his blue scarf with a slight wave of her delicate hand.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" He crossed his arms and straightened to his full height. A motion that could intimidate the most experienced soldiers in the Demacian army was entirely wasted on the petite woman before him.

"What is, dear," she said curtly before reaching for the source of her ire. Garen took a step backwards, he was going to be stubborn about this. Despite the immense difference in their heights his mother was doing an admirable job of trying to stare him down. With an indignant huff she said: "It is shabby and worn and too glaring, why you insist on wearing it in the first place is beyond me."

"Lux gave it to me," he mumbled."

"Speak up."

Garen grit his teeth. "It was a gift from Luxanna." At the mention of his little sister his mother seemed to tense up, but it was so briefly Garen was unsure whether it had just been his imagination. "Is she coming by the way? Will I get to see her?"

His mother's gaze flickered slightly before she let out a dainty, but shrill laugh that seemed to be forced, even for her. Garen lifted an eyebrow at this, but Lelia waved him off. "I am afraid not, you know how your sister gets, she is awfully busy with her studies, but she sends her regards."

Garen's face faltered at this, he had really hoped he would have a chance to see his sister. "I will be home for another four days, maybe she could…"

"No." The tone his mother used made it clear that this was the end of that discussion. He was about to argue, but was cut off by a searing glare. "Wear the damned thing if you must," his mother said curtly. "And try not to embarrass yourself in front of the King," she added before she spun on her heels and stalked off. Garen narrowed his eyes as he looked at her disappearing form. He was unsure what to make of this little display. It was clear his mother wanted to avoid discussing Lux, but he could only guess as to the reason behind it. Perhaps his sister was upset with him? They hadn't seen each other for nearly three years and she had thrown a tantrum when he left. He would have to think about that later. Any minute now, the great oak doors behind him would open. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, something he often did when nervous, messing up the neat work his mother had done. Letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding he glanced down at himself. The Commander's armor, his armor, was heavier and more ornamented than a Lieutenant's. He brushed his hand lightly against the breastplate, beneath it ran a long diagonal scar, spanning from the upper left to the lower right of his torso, a testimony to his brush with death two months prior.

The doors opened. Taking a deep breath, Garen started to move forward, taking care to keep his back straight and his steps even, his pace not too quick and not too slow. He schooled his expression to one of stoic seriousness and locked his gaze at the King, seated on his throne at the end of the room, while he tried to zone out the many people gathered at either side of the aisle he had to walk. As he got closer, he chanced a quick glance at Prince Jarvan, who was standing to his father's left and at Xin Zhao, the King's personal guard, who was standing to the King's right. The Prince sent him a small, encouraging smile. Xin's face was stoic as ever, but he did make a slight inclination of his head. Upon reaching a podium and his assigned position before the King, Garen knelt, bowing his head low. Jarvan III stood.

"Lieutenant Garen Crownguard. Your show of utmost bravery and unshakable resolve in the midst of battle served as an example for those under your command. With the power that has been bestowed upon me in the name of my father and his father before him, I name you Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard. It is my hope that it will surpass its former glory under your leadership." The King paused and from the corner of his eye Garen could make out that he was handed something very long by the Prince. "Rise Captain and come forth." Garen stood and moved to stand before the King, who, he could now see, was holding a magnificent two-handed sword. It was easily the biggest sword he had seen in his life. Its hilt was ornately shaped and gilded, its blade strong, broad and sharpened, reflecting the light that fell from the tall windows in the room. King Jarvan held the masterpiece out to him and Garen took it hesitantly, not sure, what he was supposed to do. It was heavy, far heavier than his previous sword. "I was told you lost your weapon in the battle and took the liberty of having this crafted especially for you. You will find no finer sword in all of Demacia." Garen swallowed, it felt like his mouth was full of cotton and he was relieved when the King continued, simply because it meant he wouldn't have to speak right at that moment. "I named it 'Justice' because that is what you shall champion, when you show our enemies the might of Demacia."

ooOoo

A/N: And there you have it, the first chapter of what will hopefully be a long-running fanfic. I'm posting this to 'test the water' so to speak, so please, if you have any feedback, I would love to hear it. In any case I hope you enjoyed the read. Feel free to point out any errors you might find in a review or pm, so I can correct it, English is not my first language. I will try to update as frequently as possible, juggling this with my studies and work. It might take a while though because, as you might have noticed, the chapters are fairly extensive. Until the next installment.

~WhiteWinterDragon.


	2. The Sinister Blade II

A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

Ok, before we head to the story, I just want to say thank you to all of you who left a review, favorited or added to 'follow'. I'm glad to see that the first chapter was well received. Well here is the second installment. I would love to know what you think about it. Please enjoy.

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter II

The Sinister Blade

The sound of her subtle footsteps on the lavish carpet was her only companion as she moved down the corridor. The infant moon shone through the tall windows and provided the only source of light in the room, bathing the intricate tapestries on the opposing wall in soft, silvery hues. Upon reaching a set of double doors carved in dark wood, she paused to ensure that everything was in place. Her father expected nothing short of perfection and she was determined to deliver. A devilish smile played at her ruby lips, as she brushed her delicate fingers against the small throwing knives strapped to her thigh, hidden from view by the fine, black silk of the dress she wore. Satisfied, she tucked a stray lock of crimson hair behind her ear and pushed through the doors to the west-wing dining hall.

Her father, several other prominent members of the Noxian high command and at least forty other influential guests were seated at the solid oak long-table that served as the centerpiece of the spacey room. The thought that so many important figures were in attendance at the celebration of her younger sister Cassiopeia's fifteenth birthday was amusing to her, but she took care to not let it show on the curve of her lips or the glint in her stunning emerald eyes, as she watched them all play pretend at caring. They were here to climb in status, cement alliances and screw the right people; every last one of them socializing, gossiping and plotting for personal gain. It was like a game, a game where the stakes were always high and one misstep could get you killed in the dead of night. She let her gaze linger briefly on the supposed 'star' of the evening. Cassiopeia was reveling in all the attention she received, beautiful, charming and confident beyond her years she could play the game as well as any veteran, getting whatever and whomever she desired. She could be sweet and endearing, deceptively so, and then strike like a snake in the blink of an eye if it suited her needs. In fact getting under people's skin before tearing them to shreds with nothing more than a few venomous whispers was like a sport to her.

Her father stood up from his seat and sent her an approving nod when she reached his end of the table. "I believe you have all met my firstborn, Katarina." He said, taking her hand in his as he introduced her to his company. Though she had not seen most of them in years, she recognized a number of faces amongst her father's guests. There was Keiran Darkwill, youngest son of Grand General Boram Darkwill, whose gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. She pretended not to notice. General Darius, who looked less than thrilled about attending a birthday celebration, spared her a polite nod, which she returned, silently wondering when and how the infamous General had broken his nose. She was pulled from her musings by a low, raspy voice.

"A pleasure as always Miss Du Couteau, you've grown."

She suppressed the urge to clench her teeth as she met the penetrating stare of General Swain. The man had always unnerved her. She couldn't put her finger on why exactly. Maybe it was the way he observed people and expressed himself, always perfectly polite, calm and calculated, never giving away what might be on his mind. Or maybe it was the way he seemed to see right through her, or anyone for that matter, as if her mind and soul were laid bare before his mocking eyes. The creepy raven that even now perched on his shoulder did not help either. Schooling her expression expertly, she settled for sending him a polite smile before taking a seat next to Darius and across from a young man she had not seen before. She allowed herself a few seconds to look him over, when he occupied himself with refilling his glass. He was not particularly handsome or ugly. In fact the only remarkable thing about him was how remarkably bland he seemed with his curly, mousy-brown hair and muddy eyes. She scoffed. _Too easy._ It was the small things that gave him away. Tiny, trivial mannerisms, like the way he savored his wine for just a moment longer than necessary to hide that he was trying to listen in on a conversation, or the way he remained passive even in the more heated discussions to avoid drawing any attention.

When her father had told her to bring knives, Katarina knew that someone was going to die this evening. She had been given no target, but at a guess, she would say the young man across from her was probably either a thief or a spy. Most likely her father knew this, but chose to withhold that information to test her perceptive abilities. Katarina let a small smirk grace her lips as she took a sip of her wine. She may not have her sister's flair for socialite presence, and honestly didn't care much for court intrigues or politics, but she excelled at killing swiftly, silently and effectively. Let Cassiopeia rule as the ballroom Queen, Katarina's craft and passion was assassination and she wouldn't have it any other way. First part of the job was over and done with, now she just had to wait for an opportunity to finish up without making too much of a mess.

After nearly an hour of dreadfully boring small talk, the young man excused himself, claiming that he needed to use the bathroom. Katarina sent her father a meaning glance, the slight nod of his head was all the confirmation she needed. She waited until the man had exited the room before she got up and went after him.

She kept a respectable distance, moving in the shadows and staying out of sight as she followed him through the maze that was the Du Couteau mansion. His pace was quick and he did not seem to choose direction at random, which made her curious. He was clearly aiming for a certain destination and apparently knew how to reach it too. _Interesting._ The young man made a left turn and disappeared into the old family library, Katarina slid in behind him and positioned herself between him and the doorway, opting to observe him for a bit before she made her presence known. Her brows furrowed as she watched him head straight for the bookshelves that lined the eastside wall where he started brushing his hands over the myriad of dusty, old volumes displayed there. Was he looking for a book?

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Looking for something?" The young man whipped around at the sound of her voice. His eyes were wide and his breath quickened.

"I've gotten lost." He uttered without stammering too much and offered her an apologetic smile.

"Of course," she drawled, raising a single eyebrow. "Who sent you? Where are you from?"

The man dropped all pretenses at being lost, nervous and confused, his entire demeanor changing to the stoic calmness associated with someone who is regularly faced with the risk of an untimely and violent death. "Demacia," he said. His change of tone and stance sent Katarina's heart pumping with excitement. She had been asking her father for more daring and difficult tasks for years without luck; the prospect of a possible challenge sent the adrenalin rushing to her head. Eyes never leaving her target, she moved her hand closer to her hidden weapons, so that she might draw them quickly, should the need arise.

"And what are you looking for?" She noted how he shifted his weight slightly and how his eyes darted back and forth between her face and past her to the doorway. He was clearly considering his options. A wicked smile found its way to her lips. This was it. He charged, running straight towards her, drawing a curved blade from the confines of his jacket as he did. He barely made it halfway before he crashed to the floor in a heap, limbs twitching erratically and crimson blood pumping from where her throwing knife had pierced his jugular. As Katarina remained passive in the doorway, waiting for the death throes to subside, all she could think was: _How disappointing._

"You can come out now." She called out in no particular direction, not entirely sure, she would receive a response. A moment of silence passed, before a cloaked figure appeared, stepping out of the shadows as if he was made of them. She had suspected he might be watching and felt a pang of anger. Did her father believe her incapable of dealing with something like this by herself? She crossed her arms and sent him a pointed look. "Did father send you Talon?"

He stopped his approach and remained silent for a moment. "No." His voice was low and even and his hood was drawn up, hiding his expression. She couldn't tell if he was lying, even if she tried.

"Whatever," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "How much did you see?"

Talon crouched next to the dead spy. Slowly he turned the body, so it was lying face up. "All of it." He looked up at her, allowing her a glimpse of his hazel eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. "Think he was telling the truth?"

"About being Demacian? No, he admitted that too readily and too easily. I'm guessing he was instructed to say that in case he got caught," Katarina mused, chewing on her lip, as she thought about it.

Talon nodded before turning his attention back to the corpse. "So where did he come from and why? Of all the places he could go, why the library?"

"I was wondering about that too," Katarina admitted, "father might know."

"Perhaps." Talon muttered, as he began searching through the spy's clothing.

"Speaking of which, I'd better return to the party. Be a dear and take out the trash will you?" she said as she turned on her heels, sending him a wave over her shoulder, as she sauntered off. She didn't bother to wait for his reply.

ooOoo

The party had continued for another couple of hours after she rejoined and it was not until the early hours of the morning that Katarina had a chance to speak with her father in private. Marcus Du Couteau seated himself at his ornately carved desk, motioning for her to enter the confines of his private study. She closed the door softly behind her and went to stand by the window, allowing herself a brief moment to appreciate the strokes of deep purple and violet on the sky that heralded the approach of dawn.

"Well?" her father said, leaning back in his chair and sending her an expectant look.

Katarina sighed and turned away from the window to meet his gaze. "I had no trouble disposing of the intruder, as you asked, but some things about him struck me as… odd. He seemed to know his way around the mansion and he headed straight for the library." She trailed off, as her father seemed to tense up when she mentioned the library. For a second it felt like he was looking straight through her, lost in his own thoughts, before his expression changed back to normal so fast and sudden, Katarina found herself wondering if she might have imagined the whole thing.

"Anything else?"

"Yes. He said he was Demacian."

"But you don't believe that?"

"No," she shook her head. "He didn't even hesitate before answering when I asked where he was from." Her father rose from his chair to join her by the window. "Talon doesn't think he was sent by Demacia either," she added. Marcus nodded and tore his gaze away from the city of Noxus stretching out below them to look at his daughter. A small smile graced his lips, as he carefully cupped her cheek. He had never looked so old or tired. "Father, is something wrong? What's going on?" He waved off her concern nonchalantly.

"Nothing my dear, I'm just a tired old man, who's proud of my beautiful daughter that's all." She crossed her arms and raised a single eyebrow, not entirely convinced, but she might as well have been trying to stare down one of the statues in the garden. The stoic, serious expression that slipped onto her father's face told her that the usual General Marcus Du Couteau was back in the room and that she had better stop pressing the issue. "General Swain has a job for you," He said, changing the subject before she could argue. "One of our western outposts has had some trouble with a Demacian Sergeant and his unit over the past few weeks. Swain wants you to infiltrate their camp and kill him. It should be a simple assassination, but a great opportunity for you to show the High Command your worth nonetheless, if you accept that is?"

Though she was still convinced there was more going on than her father let on, her misgivings about the whole ordeal were pushed to the back of her mind at the prospect of a chance to serve Noxus, bring renown to her name and make her father proud. A sinister smile graced her lips and she could barely mask the eagerness in her voice when she answered: "When do I leave?"

ooOoo

It was raining; the kind of slow, constant, heavy rain that went straight to the bone. Katarina shuddered, pulling her cloak more tightly around her and sent the sky above a reproachful glare. The elm tree she was seated in provided her with partial shelter from the weather, but after hours of exposure she was soaked through. Annoyed, she brushed a wet strand of hair away from her forehead and shifted her position slightly, trying to get more comfortable. It was an ideal spot for observation. Her elevated position in the tree allowed her to overlook the entire Demacian camp, while its thick canopy shielded her from the eyes of their sentries.

For the past three days she had spent a couple of hours at various times of the day, studying the camp from her perch amongst the leaves. It wasn't a particularly large camp, not by Demacian standards anyway. Only about thirty soldiers were stationed there, as far as she could tell. Truth be told, she had been disappointed when she had first seen it. The Nearby Noxian camp held almost twice as many soldiers, so why high command would rather bother her with assassinating a mere Sergeant instead of just attacking the Demacians head-on was beyond her. A simple, wooden palisade served as the camp's first and only line of defense. It should provide little challenge for a master assassin such as herself. Guard rotations, patrol patterns, key individuals and locations, such as the mess tent had all been carefully memorized. She was ready. She pulled out one of her daggers, tenderly running a finger along the blade. She would strike tonight, when most of the soldiers were asleep.

The approaching sound of numerous hooves beating against the muddy ground put an end to Katarina's musings. About a dozen riders came to a halt near the foot of her tree, just outside the wooden palisade that served as the camp's first line of defense. All of them wore heavy travel cloaks in the Demacian colors. One of them caught her attention though. Or rather his horse did. The animal was covered in finely ornamented armor plates, much more so than any mount of a standard soldier.

"Who goes there? State your name and purpose!" a sentry shouted. Katarina snorted derisively, balancing her weapon on her fingertips. It was so like Demacians to waste their time and breath on such mundane military procedures, when the arrival of the riders was obviously expected. The man on the armored horse rode to the front of the company.

"General Elias Buvelle, I am expected."

Katarina almost dropped the dagger she had been fiddling around with, this was just too perfect. A Demacian General stationed in such a modest camp at the outskirts of Demacian territory with no notable force to hide behind. It was too great an opportunity to let slip, the Sergeant could wait. _Change of plans…_ Dusk was fast approaching, a few more hours and she could land herself a much more prominent kill than her original target. Her lips curled up into her trademark smirk, as she watched the sentries open the palisade gates, so the riders could enter the camp and the false sense of security it provided. She would make her father proud.

ooOoo

By the time the stillness of night descended on the Demacian camp, the rain had quieted down to a soft drizzle. Katarina darted deftly from shadow to shadow between the many tents, her movements fluid and silent like those of a cat on the prowl. Her keen, green eyes, well accustomed to the dark, let her move about unhindered, despite the low visibility. Every now and then she stopped to listen. Bits of conversation, laughter and the muffled sound of boots in mud helped her avoid the soldiers who were not asleep, as she went. They had no idea she was there.

As she neared her destination, the General's tent, her heart beat louder with anticipation. She hid in the shadow of another tent across from the General's, taking a moment to compose herself. It wouldn't do to make any mistakes in her excitement. However much she longed for the thrill of actual combat, this would have to be done swiftly and silently, if she wanted to exit the camp alive. She was fairly confident she could take any man here one on one, or one on five, but one on forty? She could hear the berating voice of her father in the back of her mind as she considered it and rolled her eyes. Her father and Talon both preferred a quick, silent dispatch, she preferred a challenge, the harder and more dangerous the job, the greater the thrill and the more satisfaction.

Two soldiers were stationed at the large, fine tent, one at either side of the entrance. She would have to get rid of those first without letting them alarm anyone. Katarina snorted derisively at the unknowing guards. It was laughable, the way they stood there, rigid in their heavy armor, believing themselves untouchable, as they hid away behind a shell of metal. Getting past armor was a simple matter of precision, nothing more. She removed two throwing knives from her belt. One for each, they would have to die at the same time, or it would undoubtedly cause a ruckus. She aimed carefully before sending her knives flying. They cut through the air, like a deadly whisper followed by the dull thump of two bodies slumping to the ground. Katarina, pleased with her impeccable aim, would have liked to admire her own handy-work a little, but knew it was a matter of time before the Demacians would realize that something was amiss. She wasted no time retrieving her blades, leaving them as they were, poking out of the narrow slits in the soldiers' helmets. Quietly she stepped over the bodies to peek through the tent flap.

Several candles were lit inside, providing light for the General, as he sat hunched over a modest, but fine wooden desk with his back to her. Katarina could hear the scratching sound of a feather-pen against a piece of parchment. Drawing her dagger, she entered. Her steps made no noise as she crept closer to her target, practically holding her breath and inwardly cursing the sound of her heart, which was beating like there was no tomorrow. With one swift, practiced movement she pressed her blade to his throat and slit it open, feeling the familiar rush of adrenalin and accomplishment. A gurgling sound and bloody froth was all that escaped the General's lips, before he slumped forward, knocking over his ink bottle when his head hit the table. A look of mild surprise was forever frozen on his face. He had probably never even realized what happened. For a moment Katarina stared transfixed at the growing pool of black ink mixing with red blood, the colors of Noxus. _How fitting_. She let out a deep breath willing her heart to calm its pace. She needed to focus this was not over before she had made it out of the camp.

She took the same route back as she had used upon entering with only a few alterations to avoid detection. It was not until she had passed the tree-line on the other side of the palisade and made it nearly a hundred yards into the forest that she allowed herself to revel in the satisfaction of a job well done, drunk as she was on her success. The joyous laughter she had been holding in since she saw the life spill from the gash in the General's neck was finally released as she sped forward amongst the trees. She must sound like an absolute maniac. She sniggered at the thought, perhaps she was. In truth she was just proud. They had sent her to deal with a Sergeant, she had killed a General. After another mirthful laugh Katarina sobered herself. The Demacians would undoubtedly send trackers after her, she should probably find somewhere she could lie low for a few hours before heading back to her own camp.

ooOoo

It was morning by the time Katarina decided she could return to the Noxian encampment without having to worry about being traced. The sky had a light, grey tone to it, but the rain had stopped and a thick fog now covered the forest like a blanket. Droplets of water clung to leaves and blades of grass, glinting like fine, little pearls whenever a streak of early sunlight managed to penetrate the clouds. Though she was cold and wet from spending the entire night out in the rain, Katarina was in high spirits. Her first official mission had been more than a success as far as she was concerned. Her father would no doubt agree. She let her hood fall and freed her damp, crimson locks from her braid. No one could question her abilities now, this was her own accomplishment. Not her father's. A small smile graced her lips. In Noxus strength was everything and she had just demonstrated hers. She would be damned if she stayed in her father's shadow forever. The choking smell of smoke pulled Katarina from her thoughts. With mounting dread, she darted to the nearest tree, swiftly making her way to the top branches. A dark pillar of smoke was rising from the approximate location of the Noxian camp she had been headed for, writhing and twisting towards the sky like some mutated growth. _Shit…_

She didn't care that her lungs were burning, she didn't care that her hair got stuck in the brush, she didn't even care when a branch scratched her cheek, as she speeded through the forest. She was getting closer, the smell of smoke permeated the air, making her nostrils sting and her throat itch. She spat on the ground to get rid of the bitter taste it left in her mouth and pushed through the last remaining foliage, entering the Noxian camp site, or rather what was left of it. Most of the tents had been set aflame, yet the fires were already burning low, struggling to sustain themselves with everything wet from the night's rain. A myriad of hoof prints and arrows in the blood-soaked mud told of a swift attack involving both cavalry and archery and judging from the corpses that littered the forest floor it had been flawlessly executed. Katarina knelt next to the body of a Noxian soldier, a sword still firmly clutched in his stiff hand. The Noxians had clearly put up a fight, but she could only spot a few bodies sporting Demacian colors. This was wrong. Her thoughts traveled to a time long ago, when her father would tell her and Cassiopeia stories of Noxian triumph and greatness at their bedside. In one of them, Sion, a hero and symbol of Noxian ideals, had turned the tides of battle against overwhelming odds, when he sacrificed his life to kill the Demacian King. The death of Jarvan I had broken the spirit of the Demacian army and they had been forced to retreat. Katarina shook her head, she had killed their General, yet the Demacians had brought immediate retribution, when they should have been left in a state of disarray. Were there other Demacians in the area?

A strangled cough from one of the men on the ground put an end to her speculations and Katarina hurried to his side. She grimaced when she noticed his shattered ribcage. _Trampled by a horse most likely…_ "What happened here?"

The man's eyes widened at the sound of her voice and he looked from side to side, as if searching for its owner before finally fixating at a point slightly to her left. _Blind? Blow to the head perhaps…_ "Demacians dogs ambushed… killed everyone." Another cough shook the soldier's frame and specs of blood flew from his mouth.

"How many were there?" Katarina asked, trying to mask the urgency in her voice. She needed to know everything that happened and the only one who could give her answers clearly did not have much time left.

The man looked thoughtful for a moment and Katarina feared he might have just breathed his last before he finally answered: "Not many. Fewer than us, we fought, but their leader…" His features contorted with rage and he spat, narrowly missing her face. "She… was supposed to have killed him," he whispered before his body finally gave out and grew still.

Katarina felt as if someone had grabbed her gut and twisted it. She clenched her fists so hard her nails left bloody imprints on her palms. The Sergeant, how could she have been so blind, so naïve? The General may have a higher rank, but looking at the remnants of the battle it was obvious that the Sergeant posed a much bigger threat, than she had given him credit for. The anger burned just beneath the surface of her smooth skin, she wanted to scream, she wanted to stab someone and yet she could only blame her own passionate heart. What humiliation, what shame. She took a deep breath trying to calm her raging emotions. She had a job to finish and an entire army of Demacians would not stop her from completing her task. She mustered a resolve unlike any she had before. The Sergeant's life was forfeit; the only question that remained was how many bodies she would have to cut through to reach him.

ooOoo

Seated in her elm tree once more it quickly became evident to Katarina that the Demacians had learned something from the night's events. The Sergeant was standing out in the open too well guarded for her to sneak in and quietly dispose of him. She grit her teeth, it didn't matter. She would cut them down one by one if she had to, no matter the cost, she would kill her target and restore what she could of her honor. The familiar feeling of adrenalin and the sound of her heart beat coursed through her as she prepared to jump. Once she was on the ground she dashed towards the palisade. She scaled it in seconds and silenced a sentry with a well-aimed throw before he had a chance to react. She continued her forward rush, jumping from the walls and straight to the open area of the camp where the Sergeant stood with his guards. Clearly they expected some sort of Noxian retaliation, but she received a variety of odd looks from them when she seemingly dropped from the sky only a handful of yards from them. Katarina flashed them a devilish smile and drew her two daggers. For a moment time seemed to stand still, as the group of soldiers regarded the redheaded beauty.

"Let the bloodshed begin!" Katarina shouted and sped forward, they had no idea, who or what was coming for them, but she would show them. Her heart held no doubts, no hesitation and no fear, if anything the prospect of immense risk made the whole ordeal that much more exciting. Her charge seemed to pull the Demacians out of their stupor and they moved to apprehend her. She dodged a sword swing and felled a man with a throw of a knife, then rolled, jumped and killed another with a swift stab to the side where the armor was less thick. Her movements were fluid and fast, so much so, she seemed to disappear as she dashed between targets. The corpses were piling up, the ground turned crimson like her hair and her blades and her face, all spattered with the blood of her enemies. They were putting up a fair amount of resistance, a cut on her forearm, on her leg, a bruise on her shoulder, a lucky strike from one of the soldiers carved a gash across her left eye. She payed him back in kind, planting one of her throwing knives in his. She kept her injured eye closed, warm, sticky blood left crimson trails on her cheek, but she ignored it, as shouts from around the camp urged her to hurry. With her right eye she spotted the Sergeant, who had wisely hung back. Only a handful of guards now remained between them. Katarina sheathed her daggers and drew as many throwing knives as she could hold. Then she jumped and spun, crimson strands of hair whirling about her in a pirouette of death, as she let her knives fly, one of them redeemed her.

She did not stick around, her original target was dead that was all that mattered and with soldiers pouring in from all sides she needed to make a quick escape, if she wanted to get away at all. She was bruised and bloodied, but there was no time to dwell on it. Ignoring the pain and exhaustion she headed for the palisade once more, the Demacians right at her heels. She rolled to avoid some incoming arrows ducked to the right behind a tent and jumped some provision crates to make scaling the barricade that much easier. Once on the other side, she dashed towards the trees, away from the road and into the forest where the underbrush would be thick and the ground covered by roots. She felt an arrow wiz past her ear and darted to the side, hoping it would obscure the archers' line of sight. A few more arrows embedded themselves in the ground and in nearby trees, but it was not long before their thick trunks shielded her back as she ran away. She could hear the pounding sound of hooves against the soil, like drums of war in the distance and she silently congratulated herself on choosing a route that would be difficult to follow on horseback. Branches and tall grass were pushed aside as she ran through the brush, the thicker the better. She was panting, her legs were burning from keeping up her sprint and her wounds stung, but she kept going. When she reached a small creek, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, to listen. She could no longer hear her pursuers, only the soft, gentle hum of the stream. Even so, Katarina dared not stand still for long. If she ran in the stream for a while, the water would wash away her tracks. It was a good opportunity to get rid of her pursuers for good.

After what felt like hours of running she stopped. Well hidden from all sides by a thicket of holly and hazel, she lay down on the grass. She shuddered, wet and cold, bloody and weary beyond exhaustion she finally gave in.

ooOoo

It was dark when Katarina opened her right eye; the left had been sealed shut by her own dried blood. For a moment she lay still on her back, listening to the sounds of the forest at night. The wind whispered in the leaves and she could hear the faint gurgle of water in the stream only a short distance away. The clouds from the past days had disappeared, revealing a nearly full moon that bathed her surroundings in silver. Slowly she got to her feet and moved to the stream, kneeling as she reached it. She could faintly make out her reflection in the dim light. Carefully she scooped water into her hands and started scrubbing away at the blood and grime that obscured her face. It was a refreshing feeling and before long she could once again open her left eye and see two intense, emerald irises reflected in the water instead of just one. Gently, she traced the gash with her fingers, her eye had suffered no damage, but the gash would leave a scar. She could have it removed. All she needed to do was ask her father and he would get hold of the right people for her. She watched as a solemn look came over her reflection. _I know what I must do…_

ooOoo

General Marcus Du Couteau was unsure what to think as he took his position next to General Swain in one of the grand assembly halls of the Noxian palace. Usually he would be there to address matters of state and war, but today was different. Any moment now his daughter would enter the room through the ironed double doors at the far wall and come to stand before the Noxian High Command. Marcus hid his annoyance behind a perfect mask of neutral indifference, he would have preferred to have this discussion with his daughter in the privacy of their home, but since this was regarded as an official military operation, it was treated as one. Cassie was right when she called politics little more than a cruel game, where cheating was the only way to win. The more likely explanation for this to be conducted in the presence of the High Command was that someone delighted in the opportunity to publicly humiliate a member of his house. Indeed, surprisingly many members were in attendance considering this was supposed to be a trivial matter of reprimanding a sixteen years old, low-ranking agent for transgressions under mitigating circumstances. That was what he considered it anyway. His daughter had acted rashly, foolishly even of that there could be no doubt. But she had remedied her mistake to the best of her ability and she had killed a Demacian General, even if she had not specifically been ordered to do so. Nevertheless it was vital that she understood why she could not simply act out on her own, and so he had requested that he be the one to deal with the matter. He let out a sigh, already picturing the fierce glare of his oldest daughter, who could be much too headstrong for her own good at times. He could only hope that she could keep it civil and composed while in here. As if on que the doors swung open and in strode his daughter, steps even, back straight and head held high. She seemed different, changed. A scar across her left eye marred her pristine beauty, yet she had done nothing to hide it. If he had been in different company under different circumstances, Marcus would have laughed at the challenging spark that his daughter's emerald gaze held whenever she caught someone staring at the scar.

"Katarina Du Couteau," Marcus said, his voice carrying easily in the grand, acoustic hall. "You were ordered to dispose of a low-ranking Demacian officer. You knowingly ignored that order in favor of killing a Demacian General. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He locked eyes with his daughter, who stayed silent for a moment before she coolly answered: "I made a mistake."

Marcus waited, but continued, when she made no indication of having more to say. "And did you learn something from your mistake?" He was asking, both as her superior and as her father, so when she flashed him a confident, devilish grin, he was unsure whether he should consider it flippant or amusing, but her expression quickly turned dead serious once more and when she spoke it was with a clarity, he had not known her to exhibit before.

"I learned that passion should never be allowed to interfere with duty." She indicated the scar. "I will keep this as a reminder of that very lesson." With that said she turned on her heels and left the room in the same manner she had entered, back straight and head held high, leaving behind an audience that was practically stunned into silence. Marcus had a hard time not letting a smirk of his own show on his lips. Katarina was proud still, not humbled by her failure, but wiser for it and he as a father could not be more proud of her. The spell that seemed to have bound the tongues of everyone in the room disappeared with the heavy clunk of the ironed doors slamming shot behind Katarina as she left.

"She really is something." Marcus turned to look at Swain who was still standing to his right, absentmindedly stroking the raven perched on his hand. "When I first requested the aid of your daughter I had no doubts in her skill, but still considered her little more than a spoiled brat with a nag for killing." Marcus kept his face impassive, waiting for Swain to continue. "Yet that is not what I saw today." Swain paused as if to consider his choice of words. "A blade is brittle until tempered by fire." He looked to the doors through which Katarina had disappeared only moments ago and added: "Tempered passion is truly a sinister blade to wield."

ooOoo

A/N: And there you have it, six weeks in the making, but hey it's really long. It was pretty difficult for me to write too, so much death… I hope I did Katarina some justice, I found her hard to write. I love that there is a devilish, daring, taunting and sensitive side to her all at the same time. I just hope they didn't drown in all that bloodshed, seriously it felt like writing a chapter of 'Game of Thrones'. In any case, I would love some feed-back, it helps me improve my writing and does loads for motivation as well.

On another note there is something I should probably clarify before the story progresses too far. The deeper I have been digging into League of Legends lore, the more apparent it becomes that there are a truckload of plot-holes. I only realized recently that this is mostly due to the entire lore getting a rework. For instance, the institute of war is lore-wise no longer canon, summoners don't exist and a lot of champion lores are no longer up to date with this. So why am I writing this? Well… I can fully understand why people are upset when so much established lore just gets thrown out the window, yet from a storyteller's perspective I can sort of understand why Riot decided to do it, even if I don't approve of the way they did it. I mean if the champions, the supposed heroes and interesting characters of the league universe are regularly reduced to little more than puppets to be manipulated, whenever a minor dispute has to be settled that would be make for a demeaning and probably repetitive plot. I have read fics where the institute of war and the league is executed perfectly and probs and respect to those who can make it work. For the sake of my story though I have chosen to go with the current canon, meaning there is no institute and no league, however, as I hope this chapter at least has shown I will try to weave in the 'old' lore in a believable way that will solve some of the plot-holes that exists in the lore as it stands right now. I hope you can still enjoy my story regardless.

~WhiteWinterDragon


	3. A Dance of Blades III

A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

Hello again, as usual thanks to all of you who reviewed, favorited, added to follow and showed your support for this fic one way or another. I hope you will enjoy reading the third chapter.

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter III

A Dance of Blades

"Gatecrashers! Form up men!" Garen roared. The Vanguard formed rank at their Commander's bidding, creating a wall of shields to meet the charge of the Noxian infantry. The storm hit as the two armies clashed. A blinding flash of white bathed the battlefield, as a bolt of lightning split the sky asunder. War. It seemed to encompass all. It was deafening, suffocating, like the thunder that resounded above them. The ancient oak at Garen's back groaned under the forceful tear of the wind and cold rain began to fall, as if the heavens felled bitter tears for the foolishness of men.

Though he would have preferred to lead the charge, Garen stood at the rear of his force shouting out orders, directing the battle to their advantage. His voice was powerful and unwavering, as it rose above the noise and rallied his soldiers. Far behind him loomed the great fortress of Andras, like the shadow of a great beast. The Vanguard would hold the line long enough for the civilians of the surrounding farmlands to reach the safety of the keep.

Garen grit his teeth in disgust. A battle between soldiers was one thing, but burning fields and homes, slaughtering cattle and families? The Noxians had left a trail of destruction in their wake, it was only because of excellent Intel provided by a recruit from the ranger division that the Vanguard had been able to mobilize and intercept the brunt of the Noxian forces in time to evacuate the common folk that lived in the area. Garen made a mental note to personally thank the recruit later. What was her name again… Kwenn? Kwinn? He shook his head and ducked an incoming spear, he would have to think about that later, it wouldn't do for him to get distracted and die.

Screams of agony and the sound of clashing steal relatively close to his right caught Garen's attention. A Noxian soldier wielding a great double-bladed battle axe was swinging his weapon in wide arcs, carving his way through the Demacian defenses. The man was bald and heavily built – a flash of lightning illuminated the many scars that littered his pale skin. Garen raised his sword before him, locking eyes with the brute who upon seeing an opportunity to intercept the Demacian Commander lunged forward in a reckless charge. Garen sidestepped the great-axe at the last second and the weapon buried itself in the trunk of the oak tree instead of his abdomen. The Noxian pulled and wrenched wildly to free his weapon, but to no avail, and with one swift movement Garen severed both of his hands and watched his opponent fall backwards into the fray, flailing his arms that now ended just below the wrists. He stepped forward to finish what he started but stopped, when his second in command, a man named Caldor, came running up to him, panting.

"Captain! Sergeant Cassius's unit is being overrun! Some…" his Lieutenant paused, as if unsure what words he should choose. "Some monster is spearheading the Noxian charge, if they manage to flank us it'll leave the entire Vanguard exposed!" he shouted, voice raw with the effort it took to be heard through the battle all around them.

"What monster?" Garen roared back as he parried an incoming sword swing, before quickly bringing his own blade around to dispose of his attacker.

"It's a man Sir, he just won't die. What should we do?"

"Can he bleed?" Garen asked, finally able to give his Lieutenant his full attention.

Caldor sent him a confused look. "I think so?"

"Good enough for me! Hold the line here Lieutenant!" Caldor opened his mouth as if about to say something, but apparently decided against it and nodded instead, his expression serious.

"Take care Captain."

Garen flashed his Lieutenant a reassuring grin and gave him a pat on the pauldron that nearly knocked the smaller man over, before he set off at a sprint, gathering a handful of soldiers to act as further reinforcements as he went.

Cassius should be at the very front, he was a good soldier, but inexperienced as a leader and sometimes too eager. It was not unthinkable that he in a moment of misplaced confidence had overextended his forces and encountered something he could not handle. Like a monster. Garen was unsure what he should expect. His Lieutenant was one of the twelve surviving members of the original Vanguard, he had known him longer than the vast majority of his troops and considered him a calm, reasonable and steadfast soldier, perfectly capable of handling an unexpected crisis on his own. For him to be so out of it and come running for help meant the situation must be pretty dire. Garen swore under his breath and sped up, worry for his men urging him forward. The unlucky Noxians that found themselves in his way barely slowed him down.

A monster indeed. Garen lacked the words to properly describe the sight that met him, when he broke through to Cassius's unit. He was surrounded by chaos. Lightning illuminated a number of broken bodies, Cassius's amongst them, that lay scattered in a wide circular area. At the center of that macabre scene a mountain of a man was swinging a crude, heavy axe wildly about him.

The man's eyes glowed red, burning with a fire that spoke of inhuman rage. His jaw was cast in iron and his skin was pale and ashen like the flesh of a corpse. Scraps of metal were fastened on his chest, as if he had been cut open and bolted back together and where his stomach should have been a gaping hole continuously spilled a tainted arcane essence, the same red color as his eyes. His left leg ended in an iron-plated stump, serving as a replacement for the missing part of the limb. Arrows were poking out of his shoulder and upper arm and a broken spearhead protruded from his side. The spear-wound would have been a fatal injury to any ordinary soldier, yet the abomination seemed unfazed, as he continued his furious frenzy.

Behind him, Noxian forces were amassing, they seemed strangely unnerved by the display, keeping their distance rather than moving in to exploit the gap in the Demacian defenses. _Strange…_ The brute sent them a disgusted look and the Noxians hesitantly started shouting, chanting a name: "Sion! Sion! Sion!" Seemingly satisfied the huge man once again turned his attention to the Demacians.

Garen had heard that name before. A history lesson with the prince, when they were still children came to mind. _Sion locked his fingers around the King's throat and broke his neck, thus died King Jarvan I._ Garen narrowed his eyes. For years Demacian intelligence had been looking into Noxus's uncanny interest for arcane artefacts, forbidden arts and scripts on the Shadow Isles. If the 'thing' before him was truly the corpse of the warrior Sion, the first Hand of Noxus, called back from the dead to fight again, then necromancy could be added to that list. _Disgusting!_

Upon seeing his soldiers throwing themselves left and right and scrambling to get out of harm's way, Garen stepped forward, instantly catching Sion's attention. "Keep your distance and await further orders!" he called out, a plan for dealing with the monstrous figure already taking form in the back of his mind, as he observed his adversary. Sion regarded both his enemies and his allies with a derisive, superior look and he continuously neglected his guard in his overconfidence. If an undead was truly capable of arrogance, then it was a weakness that could be exploited.

Some of his men were hesitant when they stepped back and Garen could sense their doubts, spot the fear in their eyes. He couldn't blame them, not really, considering what they had witnessed. "Be bold; be just! Fear is the first of many foes!" he shouted, hoping that they would have enough faith in him, to let him see this through.

Upon hearing Garen's words Sion laughed – a cruel, mirthless, barking laughter. "Big words worm!" he mocked, pointing his great axe in Garen's direction, as he sized him up. "Don't act mighty; you are nothing but another corpse for the pile!"

"Well, what do you know… It speaks!" Garen drawled, loud enough for all to hear, as he let himself lean heavily on his sword in a lax pose.

His taunting had the desired effect, Sion's face twisted into a grimace of unchecked rage and with a howl he charged straight at the source of his ire. "I'll rip your head from your spine!"

Garen tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. The weight of the massive blade was both familiar and comforting, as he brought it up before him. Then he waited. He could hear the steady beat of his own heart through the noise, and the chaos around him seemed to stop for a moment, as if all onlookers held their breath, awaiting the inevitable clash. He could feel every cold, heavy drop of rain that pelted his face and he was acutely aware of the treacherous ground, which was slippery and heavy from the downpour. There would be no room for mistakes.

He watched intently as Sion moved closer, each step, each breath could have been a lifetime. In truth it was only a second. Sion swung his axe, Garen stepped back. He made sure to stay tantalizingly close, yet just out of reach as he continued to move backwards, his soldiers moving deftly out of his way to give them room. _Just a little further…_

"Face me coward!"

The Noxians were starting to realize, what was happening and tried to push forward, but it was too late. Garen smirked. "Now! Form rank!" The Vanguard closed ranks behind Sion, effectively cutting him off from the majority of the Noxian troops, who were making an admirable, albeit futile attempt to reach their champion.

Sion, either failing to realize his mistake, or simply choosing to ignore it seized the opportunity to take another swing at Garen, before swiftly killing two Demacian soldiers who, upon seeing an isolated enemy, had gotten too close in their eagerness to assist. Garen parried another vicious blow, fairly impressed by the sheer force behind it. If it came to a battle of raw strength between them, he just might have found his superior. On the other hand, even in his heavy armor, he was much more mobile than the hulking Sion.Garen dodged the next blow and the one after that, all the while Sion got more and more frustrated and furious, his movements becoming less and less calculated and focused. _Perfect._

Though Garen enjoyed a good fight, he knew better than to draw one out, when his men put their lives on the line to keep the Noxians at bay. For their sake, he would have to finish as fast as possible; this unit was still in a bad position. With impressive speed he feinted to the left before making a swift jab at the side Sion left exposed, when he tried to follow suit. Sion managed to ward off the attack, but had not taken the wet ground into account and slipped when he was forced to shift most of his weight to his prosthetic leg so quickly. It was the opening Garen had been waiting for. Instantly he brought his sword around and with a flash of silver he impaled his opponent on the broad blade, pushing nearly all the way to the hilt. _It's over._

He had only just finished the thought, when he realized something was wrong. _'He just won't die!'_ The words of his Lieutenant echoed in his mind, as Sion roared with renewed fury, before backhanding him. Garen managed to get his shoulder up in time to let the pauldron take most of the impact instead of his face, but, unprepared as he was, the blow was still forceful enough to throw him on his back. Despite being dazed, he instinctively started rolling to the side the second he hit the ground, avoiding a blow that would undoubtedly have crushed his skull, had he not moved. He then scrambled to his feet with less grace than he would have liked, but there was no time or room to dwell too much on form.

Sion attacked him relentlessly. There was no longer any pattern or control to his movements; he was fighting like a wild beast with no sense of self-preservation or restraint. In fact, Garen noticed, he killed Noxians and Demacians without discrimination if they were unfortunate enough to get too near.

With his weapon still firmly embedded in Sion's gut, Garen could do little else than dance around his foe to avoid the furious axe-swings. He did not have too much trouble staying clear, Sion's movements were big and easy to anticipate and there was no thought process behind them. Still, he would have to get close to get his weapon back.

A missed overhead strike from the abomination provided him with the opening he needed, in a flash Garen dove forward in a barrel roll, closing the distance between them, and pulled his sword back out before positioning himself to deliver what he hoped would be the decisive strike. He jumped forward to gain a little height and made a backhand swing as he passed Sion, who, huge as he was, could not bring his axe about fast enough to apprehend him. Garen felt the brief resistance on his blade, as it cut through sinews and arteries, before effectively severing Sion's head from his body, which slumped to the ground, finally lifeless.

There was no time to celebrate; around him the battle was still raging at full force. Cassius's unit had suffered heavy casualties and the Noxians, who, had them vastly outnumbered, were closing in fast, trying to get between them and the rest of the Vanguard. They would have to regroup or they would be overrun, it was down to basic math at this point. Garen growled low in his throat and send the Noxian forces a withering glare, he did not like to back off, but it was the smartest thing to do. "Pull back towards the fortress, we'll regroup with the rest! Move!"

His orders were instantly obeyed, his soldiers disengaged, tightened their ranks and started moving backwards and Garen took a bit of pride in how orderly and composed they were. No backs were exposed, no one broke formation. No one ran.

Garen scowled at Sion's corpse at his feet. If the Noxians had resurrected him once, they could do it again. Sending the advancing Noxian warriors a quick glance it was obvious that he had little time. Looking around, he quickly located the severed head. _Try reviving him without this!_ He was reaching for the head, when something fast whizzed past his ear and suddenly he felt small, but sharp claws dig into the skin at the base of his neck.

In his peripheral vision he could see glimpses of shiny, black feathers and he cringed at the sound of loud, screeching caws being released right next to his ear, as the creature continuously tried to get in his face. _A bird?_ Between waving his sword about him and shaking his head wildly, he managed to get the nuisance off him and grab hold of Sion's head, only moments before the Noxians could cut him off and prevent him from joining the remains of Cassius's unit in their ordered retreat.

Once safe within his own force and with Sion's head firmly secured to his belt, Garen allowed himself a moment to take in the battlefield they would leave behind. Perched on top of a Demacian standard, a black raven with six crimson eyes, stared back at him.

ooOoo

Katarina treaded carefully as she made her way through the camp. The ground was wet and slippery from yesterday's rain and the morning air was crisp signifying that the end of summer was fast approaching. She stifled a yawn and stretched. The sun barely peeked above the horizon, the sky still sporting the very last stars. It was fairly quiet this early in the morning.

She stopped upon reaching her destination – the command tent. Two guards stationed at either side of the tent flap halted her as she approached. "I am expected," she said, "General Swain sent for me." One of the guards motioned for her to wait, as the other disappeared into the tent. Katarina crossed her arms, trying hard not to show her annoyance at being held up like this. A moment later the guard returned. He nodded at her and stepped aside so she could enter.

The tent was large enough to hold several people and was equipped with all the modest luxuries one could expect when working in the field. A long table was placed in the center and a large map, illuminated by a couple of wax candles, was spread on its surface. Gathered around it and looking up as she entered stood General Swain, her father and Keiran Darkwill. A beautiful raven-haired woman, whom Katarina had seen on rare occasions and recognized as General Swain's advisor LeBlanc, was seated on a fine lush chair off to the side.

Swain was the first to speak: "Miss Du Couteau, how kind of you to join us." His voice was as always low and raspy.

"You sent for me General." Katarina stated, as she moved to join them at the table, offering her father a brief nod as greeting before she stood at attention.

Swain made a slight inclination of his head in affirmation. "As you well know our forces were repelled yesterday at the fortress of Andras – "

"Well there was not much we could do. No one had anticipated the presence of the entire Dauntless Vanguard. They had us outnumbered from the beginning, and your precious experiment did not exactly perform as promised!" Keiran interrupted. Katarina noted his accusing tone and defensive posture. Clearly he was keen to avoid blame for the way yesterday's battle had turned out.

Swain sent the younger General a sideways glance, his expression perfectly neutral before he continued unabashed: "Indeed, it was in no small part thanks to the Dauntless Vanguard, but that has little relevance for the matter at hand." He paused momentarily, as if challenging anyone to disagree, but no one spoke. Satisfied, Swain once again addressed Katarina. "You are familiar with project 'Rebirth'?"

Katarina nodded. She had been informed of the twisted magic and rituals involved in bringing one of Noxus's past heroes back to life. The undead abomination that was Sion was now little more than a grotesque shadow of his former self. A pitiful being raised to serve as Darkwill's pawn and nothing more, but she kept that opinion to herself.

"Sion was slain during yesterday's battle and the Demacians brought his head with them. I cannot stress how important it is that we retrieve it," Swain said, as he looked intently at Katarina. "This is where you come in."

He pointed to the map on the table. "About two hours ago, a group of twenty-five Vanguard soldiers, including their Commander, set out from the fortress, carrying the head with them."

"How can you be sure," Katarina asked before she could stop herself.

"I have my sources," Swain answered simply, stroking his raven Beatrice, when she swooped down to sit on his shoulder. If he had taken offense at Katarina's question, he did not show it. "You will lead a small band of assassins behind enemy lines and get that head back. The Demacians will be travelling by the main road and on horseback, but if you use this," he indicated a route on the map that cut through dense forest and across hills in a fairly straight line, "you should be able to catch up with them sometime tonight, provided they do not break their horses."

Katarina took it as her cue to leave, when Swain said nothing else. "Sir," she said curtly before saluting and turning to make her exit.

"Oh and before you leave… Retrieving Sion's head takes priority above all else," Swain's dark, piercing eyes bore into hers as he said this to emphasize his point, "but if the opportunity presents itself, you may consider killing the Vanguard's Commander Garen Crownguard a secondary objective," he said looking back to the map.

A smirk played at the corners of Katarina's lips, the whole ordeal just got a lot more interesting. "Very well, how will I tell him apart from the rest?"

Keiran let out a derisive snort, receiving a mildly disapproving look from Swain, but he didn't seem to notice. "They call him 'The Might of Demacia' pretentious title if I ever heard one," Keiran paused, as if waiting for someone to agree, but when everyone remained silent he simply shrugged and continued: "The guy is as big as a bear and twice as loud, you'll know him when you see him, he is impossible to miss."

Katarina nodded politely, in thanks for the information. Considering how much the spiteful description stank of bruised ego however, she made a mental note not to pay it too much heed.

Her father decided to cut in at that point and cleared his throat. "Excuse me Swain, I'd like to give my daughter some parting words of advice, before she sets out, I'll be back in a few minutes." With that he marched out of the tent, motioning for Katarina to follow. Katarina quickly saluted her remaining superiors before she went after him.

Marcus walked briskly, but slowed his pace as soon as she caught up. For a few seconds they walked side by side in silence. When Marcus finally spoke, it was in a low, clear tone that revealed nothing of his thoughts. "Keiran may poke fun at the Vanguard's Commander, but you should not underestimate him, it could prove a fatal mistake." Katarina sent her father a sideways glance. Did he have so little faith in her? She had learned much in the two years that had passed, since she had botched her first official assignment, the scar she had received served as a reminder every time she looked in a mirror.

"You don't believe I can handle this mission?" she asked bluntly, just barely containing her anger enough to not let it seep into her voice and words.

"On the contrary, I'm convinced you can successfully retrieve Sion's head, but you should take Swain's advice and only target Crownguard if an opportunity presents itself, or you have no other choice, but to engage him." Marcus put a hand on her shoulder in one of his rare displays of affection. "'Might of Demacia' may be a pretentious title, but so far he has done fairly well to live up to it. Don't be reckless," he said quietly before he turned around and headed back towards the command tent.

ooOoo

Garen halted his horse to assess the state of his small company. They had been on the move ever since they set out from the fortress of Andras a few hours before dawn, only making a brief stop by a small brook to allow the horses a drink. His large black stallion pawed at the forest floor, digging up the first of the season's fallen leaves, displaying his eagerness to move again. "Easy boy," Garen mumbled, absentmindedly stroking the horse's smooth, massive neck to calm him, as Caldor rode up beside them on his bay mare.

"Commander, how should we proceed?"

Garen let his gaze travel upwards. Judging from the light that managed to penetrate the canopy they had another hour or two, before it would be too dark for them to continue. "The horses seem fresh enough, let's put the last hours of light to good use and pick up the pace a bit before we set up camp for the night."

"Sir..." Caldor said – his tone hesitant as he eyed something down to Garen's side with mild disgust.

Garen followed his gaze till it landed on a simple, linen sack, which was fastened to his saddle. The bottom of it was dark-brown, caked by the dried blood spilled from its rather grisly contents. Garen raised his eyebrows and inclined his head slightly, encouraging his Lieutenant to speak his mind.

"Would it not be simpler to destroy it, or throw it away?"

Truth be told, Garen had considered both of these options himself, yet had reasoned that it would be wiser in the long run to bring the sack and its contents back to Demacia. "What the Noxians have accomplished with their necromancy and vile magic bodes ill for us. I will have this brought to the mages at the College of Magic for study. With some luck, they'll be able to come up with effective countermeasures for any future encounters we might have with similar abominations."

Caldor nodded mutely, point taken.

"Speaking of Noxians, still no sign of pursuers?"

Caldor shook his head, "no Sir."

Garen furrowed his brows. He had expected that the Noxians would take action to retrieve Sion's head, so the fact that there had been no sign of them so far unnerved him. It was just too easy somehow. He shook his head and spurred his horse forward into a canter, riding up front to set the pace for the rest of the group as they followed suit. It would do him no good to dwell on the matter. He'd just have to stay alert.

ooOoo

It was a clear night and the early autumn air had a soft bite to it. Katarina signaled the assassins Swain had put under her command to fall in behind her, as she cautiously moved closer to the Demacians' encampment. The moon provided all the light that they needed, as they crept forward, silent like a mild breeze.

When she reckoned they were a suitable distance from the camp's perimeters, she held up a hand and the assassins stopped immediately at her silent command. _Well… at least they don't question my orders._ She thought ruefully. It was no secret that she preferred to work alone. On occasion she would work with Talon, but in general she considered a team effort to be more trouble than it was worth. She sent the seven assassins a sideways glance and resisted the urge to grimace at them. It was like being stuck with an uncannily quiet and strict band of nannies. Clearly Swain had his reservations, when it came to trusting her and it annoyed her greatly, she was no child. She sighed inwardly and decided that she was better off putting her mind to the task at hand instead of brooding.

The camp was very spartan, no palisades, no trenches, only a few tents. It could be set up or torn down at a moment's notice, which made sense for a unit on the road. She clicked her tongue, as she spied quite a few patrolling sentries. It would seem that the Vanguard's Commander did not neglect the camp's defenses, even when camped in a forest in the middle of nowhere, where others might have reasonably believed themselves safe. _Smart man._

"I will go in first. Alone," she whispered. "You only intervene if a fight breaks out. If that happens, your priority is to secure Sion's head. Capitalize on the fact that they do not know our numbers, strike from the shadows and keep them rattled and confused. Avoid direct confrontation if possible."

"And what of their Commander?" One of the assassins, a female with a low, monotone voice, asked.

"I will deal with him." Katarina shrugged, drawing one of her daggers and letting a confident smirk grace her lips. "If everything goes according to plan, he will be dead before they realize they are under attack."

"And if it doesn't?"

"I will keep him occupied long enough for you guys to obtain the objective." She paused to take one last look at her stoic company and was surprised, but very pleased that no one voiced any objections to her plan. _Very well then, here goes nothing._

Sneaking in unnoticed was more of a challenge, than Katarina cared to admit. The guards were cleverly positioned at key locations and none of them were sleeping on the job. Still, she managed to get by, exploiting every shadow to her advantage. Sion's head was most likely in the Commander's possession or somewhere near him, making his tent a good place to start her search. Katarina had no trouble finding his tent. While it was fairly modest in size, it was still a standard officer's tent and could easily be distinguished from the rest. She was surprised to see that no soldiers were positioned at the entrance, considering how well the camp's perimeters were guarded. _Guess he likes his privacy…_ she mused. _First mistake Demacia._

A soft beam of light was streaming through the tent opening and she paused. Judging from the light the Commander was most likely still awake. A grin spread on her face, as her father's words of warning came to mind and she wondered what kind of opponent she would be facing. At the time, Marcus's patronizing had made her angry, but now that she had had time to mull it over, she found the whole ordeal intriguing, seeing as her father rarely showed concern. Her heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of a challenge and she found herself sincerely hoping that this Crownguard character would live up to his renown.

Taking a deep breath, she slid inside, silent as a shadow. The Demacian, stood at the opposite side of the tent, his back turned towards her and the first thought that came to her mind was that Keiran had not been exaggerating when he said 'big as a bear'. Even stooped over a table as he was, the Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard looked massive, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. At a quick glance, Katarina reckoned he was about the same height as General Darius, possibly a few inches taller. She regarded him carefully for a few seconds. Trying to go straight through his armor would likely be a wasted effort. Nearly every part of his body was covered by either plate, chainmail or hardened leather. In fact, his neck and head seemed to be the only parts left truly exposed. _I can work with that._

She tightened the grip on her blades and prepared herself to close the little distance that remained between them. _Better make this count._ With both of her daggers poised to strike she shot forwards. Another supposedly great foe, dead before they even got to trade blows, she thought darkly.

Her disappointment never got a chance to fester though, it happened so fast, she nearly missed it. Instinctively she bend over backwards at the last second, the enormous sword missing her so narrowly she could feel a rush of air on her face as it passed above her. Katarina jumped backwards to put some more distance between them and it took a second for her mind to properly catch up with her body and process what had just occurred. If she had reacted half a second later, he would have cut her in half. Katarina felt both mortified and ecstatic, the disappointment replaced by the stunning realization that she could have died. It was at once both terrifying and invigorating and she found that she could not contain her brilliant smile, as she looked up to meet the gaze of her enemy for the first time.

Now that they were facing each other, Katarina was somewhat surprised by what she saw. Based on what she had heard of the Demacian Commander, she had imagined that she would encounter a weathered veteran, marred from countless battles, not unlike the current Hand of Noxus. The man before her however, looked about her own age, not at all what she had expected. He was undeniably handsome, with a strong, angular jaw and a square chin. Thick, auburn hair crowned his head and though his expression was molded into a serious scowl, as he glared down at her with his, stark blue eyes, she shamelessly took her sweet time to appreciate the entirety of his muscular form. Boy was he fine.

Katarina grinned even wider, when the stiff Demacian pointedly ignored the fact that she was openly checking him out. She licked her lips, cocked an eyebrow at him and tilted her head, he looked so damn serious. "Soo darling Demacia," she said, keeping her voice low and flirtatious, "that sword compensating for something?"

ooOoo

It took Garen an excessive amount of effort to keep his expression neutral. When he had seen the candle flicker, he had known that he was no longer alone in the tent and expected an attack. As he brought his sword around to deal with his assailant however, he had been surprised to see a stunning redhead dive swiftly out of harm's way, only to stop and gawk at him indignantly from the other side of the tent.

The entire situation was bizarre. The Noxian assassin seemed strangely content to simply watch him from a distance and the weird looks she gave him were positively unnerving. Her hair was long, the crimson locks framing her petite face and falling gracefully past her hips. If memory served him correctly, her description matched that of Katarina du Couteau. Also known as the Sinister Blade, one of Noxus's most accomplished and infamous assassins. Tight, soft leather armor hugged her form, leaving little of her figure to the imagination and Garen found it hard to focus his attention on her eyes, mentally kicking himself every time his treacherous gaze almost strayed to her luscious curves or soft, red lips.

He was no stranger to beautiful women, in fact, his mother saw to it that they were practically thrown at him. He knew a fair share of fierce female soldiers too and yet, he had never encountered a woman quite like the one standing before him. Her emerald eyes burned with a strange, lively fire, meeting his gaze evenly, unwavering, unapologetic and unafraid. Her smirk widened even further and she licked her lips. "Soo darling Demacia," she said, her voice low and strangely playful, "that sword compensating for something?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Garen answered drily, keeping his tone and expression impassive. Her eyes widened slightly at his quip, she had not expected he would talk back it seemed.

"Another time perhaps, right now I'm on a busy schedule," she said, exaggerating a pout. Her expression changed then, her eyes shone with determination and though she was still smirking, her entire demeanor became a lot less lax and by extension a lot more imposing. Garen shifted his weight and held his sword up before him. Playtime was over. He followed her gaze as she swept it around the tent, clearly searching for something. He had a pretty good idea what, and silently congratulated himself for leaving Sion's head with Caldor in another tent.

"You took something that does not belong to you, give it back and I might let you live," she said, her gaze intense as she spoke, her voice soft, dangerous, clearly annoyed that she couldn't find what she sought. Garen had no doubts it was a very real threat.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline that offer."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself handsome." A knife was flung his way, aimed for the exposed skin of his neck. Garen raised his left arm defensively, never breaking eye contact, as he let her blade bounce harmlessly off his vambrace. He received an approving smirk for his efforts, before she made a hasty exit. He followed close at her heels, happy to escape the confines of the tent which were fairly restrictive for a man his size.

No sooner had he made it out, than she lunged for him again with alarming speed. He was slightly taken aback by her eagerness to engage him up close. After all, he had longer reach and superior strength. It quickly became clear however that she was too clever to let him press these advantages, never giving him a chance to dictate the battle and make it a contest of raw power. Instead she kept engaging and disengaging at incredible speed in an attempt to wear him down and make him expose a weakness. As a result, they seemed to be stuck in a stalemate. Every time she came at him, he would push her away before she could break through his guard and every time he made a move for her, she would dive out of his reach before he could land a hit.

Garen had to grudgingly admit that her form was perfect – elegant, swift, accurate and deadly. One mistake would be all either of them needed to turn the battle in their favor and Garen could not remember a time he had been so hard pressed to give his all in battle. Fighting to the best of his ability, locked in a deadly waltz, dancing on the edge between life and death made him feel more alive than he had in all his years of service and to his horror Garen realized that he was returning the assassin's wicked smile. It was as if time stood still and only the two of them existed.

But they were not alone. Garen noticed some of his soldiers approaching, drawn to their location by the sound of clashing steel, she noticed them as well. They had her surrounded and outnumbered, but wisely kept their distance, the Sinister Blade's bloody renown in mind. Garen had mixed feelings about the whole spectacle. On the one hand he wanted to do his job – and do it well, which meant that he really should take advantage of his superior numbers, but on the other hand he personally much preferred to engage her fairly in a duel as he had thus far.

She did not seem at all intimidated or discouraged by the fact that the odds had turned so against her and Garen wondered if she had something up her sleeve, something he was missing. Two of his men suddenly fell to the ground, struck from the shadows of the surrounding forest and he had his answer. _So she is not alone._ His men were well trained, but they were used to dealing with straight up combat not sneak attacks, a point he vowed to rectify when they got back. If they got back, he thought grimly, as he watched another man fall.

"Spread out and pair up two and two! Don't leave your backs exposed!" he shouted. His men obeyed instantly and without question and Garen could breathe a little easier trusting them to guard each other's blind spots. They were still vulnerable however, for all he knew there could be two assassins or twenty hiding in the treacherous foliage around the camp, hell this entire charade could be nothing more than a distraction to keep him away from their real objective, Sion's head. Actually that sounded like the most plausible explanation.

"You're getting distracted Demacia!"

 _Crap!_ She was far too close. There was no way he could bring his sword up in time to block and so he opted for the only viable option he had left and veered his entire body to the side in the vague hope that it would be enough.

"Hmm not bad, not bad at all," she said once she was safely out of his reach again. She smiled at him triumphantly, her eyes practically sparkling with amusement, as she held up one of her blades. "But I draw first blood."

ooOoo

Katarina watched as the big Demacian tentatively put a hand to the cut she had left on his cheek, rubbing his fingers together when they came away stained with blood. "So it would seem," he conceded, changing his stance. "But you know – it's the final blow that really counts."

She barely managed to get out of the way in time to avoid his charge. _Holy shit he's fast!_ Throughout their match he had seemed content with letting her take the offensive, retaliating rather than attacking, moving around as little as possible. It made sense she had figured, his pauldrons alone had to weight a ton and so she had thought him slow by default. Clearly she had thought wrong.

She made another desperate leap out of the way as he followed up his initial charge with another attack, then another and another. She grit her teeth with frustration, flinging knives at him to get some reprieve from his relentless assault, but they barely slowed him down as he merely knocked them out of the air with the broad side of his sword or his hand.

It was obvious that she needed a different approach. If she wanted to strike a decisive blow, she would have to get up close and personal. Katarina cursed under her breath. He kept her at sword point each and every time she tried to move in. Attempting to block the massive weapon was out of the question, it would shatter her blades and her by extension. There was only really one way to get past it that she could think of on the fly, but it was damn risky.

Katarina backed up a few steps, measuring the distance between them carefully before she acted. She took full advantage of her speed, practically flashing in close before she jumped as high as she could. In the air she flipped her body, using her momentum to get a little extra height and to position herself for the unorthodox landing. Her acrobatics payed off and she dropped on his back. He barely staggered from the impact, easily supporting her weight. Katarina wasted no time, raising her dagger for the killing strike, as she desperately clung to the Demacian's torso.

She did not hesitate, aiming straight for the crevice between his shoulder and his collarbone. But his left hand shot up and grabbed hold of her wrist, intercepting the blow inches before her dagger touched his skin. _Fuck._ It took all of Katarina's willpower to not scream out in pain, as she felt the bones in her wrist break under the pressure of his grip. She let go of her dagger and heard it clatter when it landed unceremoniously at his feet. Then she was flung to the ground with such force, the wind was knocked straight out of her lungs. Quickly, she rolled out of the way and got back up. He made no attempt to finish her off. _Fool._

She bit her lip hard and clutched her broken wrist, damn it hurt. She glared at him with as much venom and animosity she could muster. There was no pity in his gaze, but there was no trace of mockery or contempt either. If anything he looked contemplative and Katarina huffed with frustration. She wanted to kill him, hurt him, to make his face contort in agony. To break through that stoic, serious facade and expose him for whatever he was beneath all that armor of glorified self-righteousness and foolish chivalry and… Katarina took a deep breath to rein in her temper. And yet she found she could not hate him, not really.

ooOoo

Garen watched the beautiful assassin in silence, wondering what went through her head as she stood there, clutching at her broken wrist and glaring at him like he was the sole source of everything wrong with the world. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot.

A loud whistle pierced the air, putting an end to his musings and Garen was alarmed to see a victorious smirk replace the woman's furious scowl. With mounting dread he turned his head to see Caldor running towards him, an expression of shame on his face and an apology ready to spill from his lips. _They got the head._

"I'm afraid that's my cue Demacia." She sounded almost apologetic – almost. Raising her uninjured hand to her lips she blew him a kiss, "I enjoyed our dance." Then she disappeared into the forest behind her, blending into the shadows as if she was one of them, and soon, the only trace of her was the heat on his cheeks, left by her ghostly kiss.

ooOoo

A/N: Finally done with the third chapter! I've had most of it written for weeks, but university has been crazy and so it's been hard to find time to finish it up. I also worked on a cover for the story on the side… If you want to see the full size drawing, just go to my fanfiction profile, there should be a link to my deviant art there. I hope I did all the characters justice, lots of characters appeared in this chapter, both directly and indirectly. Also, just to clear things up in case there is any confusion: This chapter takes place about two years after the first and second chapters, hence Katarina is 18 years old in this and Garen is well on his way to 20. As always, feed-back is much appreciated, so feel free to let me know what you think.

On another note… You can skip all this btw. Some of you might have noticed that I have changed Sion's lore a bit. I did this because Sion's lore since his rework has a few issues. For example the fact that Sion killed Jarvan I. Jarvan I would be the great grandfather of Jarvan IV, who is a young, but still grown man, meaning Jarvan I was probably in his prime somewhere between 70 and 100 years before this story, unless ofc. Sion killed a 100 to 130 year old man recently, which would kind of make it less of an achievement. The Noxians could have conserved Sion's body for 70+ years before resurrecting him, but that makes it sort of hard to explain that Sion was a good friend of the current Grand General Boram Darkwill, who in that scenario would thus have to be super old. And it makes it impossible to explain why Sion is mentioned as the Commander in charge during the siege of Andras mentioned in Urgot's judgement, where Garen is present. See what I'm up against here? Since I find it very hard to believe that Garen existed at any point in time where Sion or Jarvan I were still alive, I have decided that Sion killed a semi old Jarvan I and was then conserved until resurrection. Why even bother? Because in Katarina's old lore the reason she met Garen the first time was because she was sent to retrieve Sion's corpse, which honestly makes for a better first meeting than just having her randomly bump into him on a battlefield. So, why did I decide that Sion should still be an undead and the killer of Jarvan I instead of just utilizing the old lore and let him be alive until his old canon death at the fortress of Andras? Actually that is mostly because I found it hard to believe that Garen of all people would drag around a corpse for the heck of it. If there was a chance that Sion might be re-re-resurrected or whatever, Garen would have a just cause, see what I did there? Also I think that the whole killing Jarvan I thing is an important aspect of Sion's character and I did not want to take that away from him to reduce him to a lamb up for slaughter plot point. No, better to find a compromise between new and old lore that works… At least until Riot gets in gear and clarifies how this clusterfuck of lore is really connected. Sorry about this awfully long rant, but I thought it might be better to clarify in here rather than leaving anyone familiar with the lore confused. In my defense though, I did say this entire section could be skipped. Until next installment.

~WhiteWinterDragon


	4. Shadows Gather IV

A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

Long time no see everyone! Thank you for all of the kind feed-back I have received. Here is the fourth chapter of my story I hope you will enjoy reading it.

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter IV

Shadows Gather

The training hall echoed with the clatter of steel, as blade after blade was embedded in the straw-dummies set up in the room for target practice. Katarina let another knife fly – her aim was off by two inches. She roared with frustration and kicked the closest dummy with such force the head was torn clean off and rolled lazily across the floor, before coming to a stop at the feet of her sister, who chose that inopportune moment to enter the room. _Fucking great…_

Cassiopeia spared the dummy-head a brief glance before she bothered to look up and meet Katarina's less than thrilled gaze. Though her expression might have appeared neutral to others, Katarina knew her sister well enough to see the amusement and mischief behind her pretty, green eyes. "Having fun?"

"Get lost Cassie, I'm not in the mood."

"Is that any way to greet your only sister?" Cassiopeia said with a pout, flicking a curly lock of dark, brown hair over her shoulder. Katarina rolled her eyes at the fake hurt in her sister's voice. The beautiful brunette was practically bursting with glee at the prospect of adding to her misery, she just knew it.

"Those who play with fire end up burned Cassie," Katarina said coldly, turning away, so she could extract some of her knives, hoping, despite knowing better, that Cassiopeia would just leave her to her thoughts.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a word of advice."

"Hmm, well I suppose you would know all about playing with fire. How is that wrist of yours dear sister?" Cassiopeia's voice was sickeningly sweet, like rotten honey. _Bitch…_

Katarina clenched her bandaged fist so hard her wrist started throbbing with a dull pain. "My wrist is fine," she bit, with a tone of finality. She had no wish to discuss the little skirmish she had had with the Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard three weeks prior with her sister. Relaying the mission report to Swain and her father had been bad enough.

Cassiopeia shrugged, taking on an air of nonchalance. "What was he like?"

"Excuse me?"

"What was he like, the Demacian Commander?"

It was a confounding question. What was she supposed to answer? She had only crossed blades with the man for five minutes tops. "How the fuck would I know? Why do you ask?"

"Well, why didn't you kill him?" To Cassiopeia's credit, she looked sincerely curious. Apparently it never crossed her mind that her big-sister had simply fallen short of the task. Katarina sighed. That was really all there was to the matter, but she would die before she admitted it out loud.

No matter what her father said, securing her mission objective had only been a small consolation – a shallow victory in her eyes. The Demacian hadn't even bothered to chase her. Considering he had not known the exact number of enemies he was up against that was technically a wise decision, but still. Some small part of her wished that he had followed her into the forest, that they could have finished what they started that night.

She wanted to fight him again. Though she loathed to admit it, he had sated her voracity for battle unlike any other she had ever fought. His perseverance could keep up with her ferocity. Her agility matched his strength. And then there was that strange, annoying gaze of his. It was so intense, like a storm looming just beyond the horizon. _And the smile…_ At one point she could have sworn that he was grinning right back at her, but the moment was so brief she couldn't be sure his expression had ever changed.

It was infuriating. How could she go back to simple assassinations after experiencing the thrill of battling someone like that? It would never be the same and that was the root of her current predicament. She huffed with frustration. These thoughts had been plaguing her ever since she had returned and they always led her to the same dead end. She hated leaving something unfinished and so, she would have to kill him to move on, but if she did… what then? How long would it take to find another who could push her to her very limits like that?

"Kat?" Katarina looked up, broken out of her morose reverie by her sister, who was still waiting for an answer she was determined not to give.

"I just didn't feel like it at the time. But when I do kill the bastard, I'll take great pleasure in watching, as he draws his last breath," Katarina said, mostly to convince herself, as she hurled another knife, impaling the targeted dummy's forehead. "Let's leave it at that," she shrugged, though her tone was foreboding.

Cassiopeia gave her a disbelieving look, but wisely chose to drop the matter and change the subject, her expression regaining its usual air of bored superiority. "Whatever, I only came down here to say goodbye anyway."

"Where are you going?"

"Shurima."

Katarina raised her brows at this. Cassiopeia was the darling of the Du Couteau house. She was beautiful, charming, perceptive and deceptively clever, her forked tongue and pretty face had doomed many for little more than whispers in a ballroom or carefree pillow-talk. She thrived amongst the Noxian elites. The lavish, luxurious life and courtly intrigues of nobles was her element, frankly the idea of Cassiopeia wandering around in one of the most desolate, hostile environments in Valoran was bizarre. "Explain."

Cassiopeia glared at her for her apparent skepticism, but complied none the less. "Father has asked me to find something for him." Cassiopeia's voice held a self-satisfied undertone that clearly spelled: Father asked me, not you, but Katarina would be damned before she would give her sister the satisfaction of seeing how much that particular detail bothered her. He probably had his reasons, but she couldn't shake the thought that it might be because she had let him down in some way, given him cause to doubt her?

"Katarina."

Preoccupied as she was by the banter with her sister, Katarina had not noticed Talon enter the room before he spoke. "Talon," she said curtly, nodding in his direction as a way of greeting.

"Your father requires your presence. You are to report to the War Room at High Command immediately."

Katarina sighed and went to collect her remaining knives. Her father's protégé looked serious as ever, his tone had been neutral, but he seemed unusually tense. "Very well, best not keep him waiting then," Katarina said, following Talon who was already out the door. She stopped briefly in the doorway one hand resting upon the old, polished frame. "Be careful Cassie," she said quietly. She didn't look back.

ooOoo

A complex system of tunnels and caverns running through Skull Mountain made up the central of power in Noxus. While most matters of state were taken care of in the grand halls of the upper levels, the war room was located in the very bowels of the mountain.

Katarina's steps echoed in the long corridor, the rocky walls throwing the sound around, displacing it, creating the eerie sensation that someone was walking behind her. Lit torches every few meters provided the only source of light and cast writhing and deformed shadows around her as she passed.

She wondered why her father had summoned her. He knew she hated long, boring meetings, so it must be important. Despite her efforts to pry something from him, Talon had revealed nothing. He had kept her company, if mere presence could be called that, until they reached the Ivory District before heading off, claiming that he had some business to attend to. Katarina huffed and kicked at a loose rock. Cassie got to go to Shurima looking for whatever, Talon got to do… She actually had no idea what sort of 'business' he was currently engaged with, but she would bet her right arm it was more interesting than being stuck in a military meeting with a bunch of old geezers.

As she neared her destination she passed more and more members of the elite guard, standing silent and unmoving in their characteristic, black steel armor, looking like grotesque statues in the sparse, flickering light. It was unusual to see so many of them in attendance outside a battlefield or an official parade. _This meeting might be entertaining after all…_

A last left turn led her to an isolated corridor with just one door at the very end of it. Two guards stepped aside as she approached, allowing her passage. The reason for the excessive guard became clear as soon as she entered. It seemed that anyone who was anything was present in the cavernous hall. Seated around the massive, granite war table in the center were the most prominent of Noxus's Generals. Her father, Swain and Darius were all present amongst them. Even Grand General Boram Darkwill, who sat at the head of the table, was there in person, his son Keiran seated to his right. Katarina could number the times she had seen the Grand General on one hand. He rarely ever left the halls of the Skull Palace, ruling from behind the safety of its walls, relying on people like Darius, her father, Swain and his son to handle matters at the front. Not unwise, but not good for his image in the eyes of the general public either.

Katarina wasted no time before heading to her assigned spot a few steps behind her father's chair. Once in place she allowed herself a proper look at the grand assembly. The Captain of the Elite Guard, a woman called Vanessa Hawthorn stood off to the side of the room, flanked by a couple of her black-armored guards. Swain's adviser LeBlanc stood a few paces behind Swain, her position mirroring Katarina's own behind her father.

There were also some, whom Katarina did not recognize. A man dressed in lavish, blood-red garments with pale skin and almost white hair preoccupied a seat at the table on the side opposite from her. His expression was hard to read. He gave off the impression of knowing something others didn't and seemed oddly flamboyant and smug about it, as if he found the entire situation amusing and didn't feel like sharing the joke. His smile widened slightly, as their eyes met for a second and Katarina, not too keen on being caught staring, quickly averted her gaze to the doors, opting to observe the people still filing into the room instead.

A tall, but lanky man entered, turning quite a few heads as he moved by. He was bald and pale and wore a white mask, which hid his face, from his pointed, hooked nose and down. Another one she had never seen before. To Katarina's surprise, the strange man seated himself next to Swain of all people, exchanging a brief greeting, apparently they were familiar. She took a measured step to the side to chance a subtle glance at her father. He too was observing the pair, but his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. Perhaps that was just as well.

The loud booming sound of the ironed doors slamming shut brought the room to silence and Grand General Darkwill rose to his feet. "I have called this gathering at the request of General Swain," he motioned towards Swain, who nodded in response, his expression serious and solemn. "He has brought some matters to my attention that call for immediate action. General Swain – speak," Darkwill said, before sitting back down.

All heads turned to Swain. "Thank you Grand General." Swain's voice was as always low and raspy, yet he had no need to raise it. Even with so many people present it carried easily with its usual calm dignity and control. "And thank you, ladies and gentleman," he addressed the room, "I am pleased that so many representatives of Noxus' finest were able to gather on such short notice." Swain paused and let his gaze wander the hall. "We face a crisis." Scattered, low murmurs followed that statement, but they were quickly silenced when Swain continued. "I am sure most of you are already aware that Demacia is currently in the process of negotiating an alliance with the Ionian nation." More murmurs this time.

Katarina narrowed her eyes. It was nothing new that Demacia and Ionia were on friendly terms, certainly not a 'crisis' that called for a full war council. _What is he playing at?_ Swain held up a hand and the murmurs, once again, died down.

"I know what you are thinking. This changes nothing. It has no bearing on us. Ionia is irrelevant before the might of Noxus." Swain once again let his gaze sweep his audience, enthralling it with his intense glare. "You are wrong," Swain said, his voice now quiet, subtle, almost a whisper. Katarina felt a chill run down her spine. It was uncanny to watch how much the General could influence the room just by changing his tone a bit.

"Think for a moment. Ionia's position overseas could lock down our harbors, apprehending our trade with Bilgewater and Zaun. And Demacia is as ever playing tug of war with our Western borders. With this alliance, they could force us to fight a devastating war on two fronts. Three if Freljord decides to join in from the North. Our culling of the barbarian tribes there has pushed the barbarian King and the leader of the Avarosa into a marriage, leaving both clans that much stronger." Swain let out an audible sigh. "Therefore, I suggest that we sail for Ionia and attack."

The silence that had fallen upon the room during Swain's speech was broken as myriads of voices blended together in chaos and disorder in a vain attempt to express anger, fear, doubt, skepticism and enthusiasm. "Why push for a fight Swain?" The voice of Katarina's father rang clear and true, easily heard through the commotion. He too had no need to raise his voice, when General Du Couteau decided to speak, people tended to listen and the rest of the assembly was quickly stilled. It felt as if an eternity went by in a single breath, as Katarina watched the two generals seated at opposing sides of the grand war table, their gazes locked, calmly assessing one another. The sudden tension in the room was so thick she was half convinced she could cut it with her daggers, if she cared to try.

"Ionia has ever been preaching for peace and balance above all else. Demacian alliance or not, it is unlikely that the Ionian nation has suddenly agreed to get involved in the war they have been so keen to avoid for decades," Marcus said tilting his head slightly to look at Swain intently. "If you attack them first however, it changes the situation completely. They would surely retaliate and you would end up having provoked the very scenario you are trying to avoid." Scattered whispers could be heard around the room. General Swain was regarded as one of, if not the most brilliant strategist in Noxus, yet no one could deny the logic of Marcus' words.

"As always you present valid arguments Marcus, ever the voice of reason," Swain said. "But we are past the time for such luxury. Can we truly risk the welfare of Noxus solely on the belief that Ionia will continue to honor their ancient teachings? I am not willing to gamble Noxus' future on the whims of a weak nation. We should strike first, devastate them, discourage them – ensure that they will have nothing to retaliate with before they have a chance to mobilize themselves! It is the only way." Katarina kept her gaze firmly directed at her feet. She supported her father by default of course, but Swain's concerns were not unfounded and so she, like the rest of the audience, could only stand by with a sense of awe and apprehensiveness, as two of their most revered Generals juggled the fate of their nation.

Marcus let out a sigh and propped his arms up on the table to rest his chin in his palms. "Very well Swain, let's entertain your idea for a bit. We amount a considerable strike force, cross the ocean and launch a massive invasion on poor, unsuspecting Ionia. With very little standing military Ionia's governing forces fall swiftly and because the remaining Ionians will want to seek a 'peaceful' resolution, the majority of our forces will be free to return to Noxus after a very short time. That would be the ideal, but completely unrealistic outcome for us." He paused, allowing the audience a moment for his words to sink in.

"This is a more likely chain of events. We amount a massive strike force in an attempt to ensure swift victory and cross the ocean to launch an attack on Ionia, who probably knows we are coming. Ionia has a small standing military force, which they will keep stationed near the capital. Everywhere else, they will have prepared for drawn out guerilla war in the vast Ionian forests, where they hold the advantage. Meanwhile, Demacia has not failed to notice that we have withdrawn considerable numbers from our outlying territories. In fact, the Demacian Prince and Crownguard are pushing our borders along the Serpentine, as we speak! They will push forward with little resistance and eventually, they will receive a request for aid from their Ionian allies. Then they will know with absolute certainty that a major portion of Noxus' armed forces are occupied overseas. Self-righteous big brother Demacia, ever the great, self-proclaimed protector of those in need will of course not stand for this. But Ionia is so far away, it would be much easier to just march straight for the Noxian capital, which we have left so conveniently exposed. Do you see where I'm going with this?" Throughout his little rant, Marcus had kept a spark of humor in his voice to emphasize the foolishness of what he was saying. Now he was dead serious and the dramatic change had everyone in the room waiting with baited breath. Marcus let out a heavy sigh and continued. "Tell me Swain. What do we do when you and I are across the sea, playing hide and seek with Ionian peasants and Crownguard comes knocking at our gates?"

The silence that followed her father's words was suffocating. Katarina was no longer annoyed that she had been forced to attend. This meeting was nothing like the average exchange of reports from the front kind of war meeting. No, it was like watching a game of chess. A game played for the highest stakes by two masters.

It felt like it took forever for Swain to reply. "Your concerns are well founded Marcus, you are quite right. If that was how we were going to proceed, Demacia would be left free to strike at our very core," a small smile that left goosebumps on Katarina's skin played at Swain's lips, "which is why I took myself the liberty to approach the Zaunite Council for assistance."

This caused another uproar in the room. Noxus asking for help from a lesser nation? Strength above all else was the core value of everything Noxian and many of those present clearly considered Swain's move a transgression. Katarina glanced sideways to get a glimpse of General Darius. The Hand of Noxus was known as a great believer in the Noxian way and was considered the ultimate embodiment of it by many. To Katarina's surprise Darius seemed completely unfazed. Either he was better at keeping up appearances than she had previously given him credit for, or he was smart enough to realize that if the invasion of Ionia was to be considered a success, they had no choice but to seek outside help. The grand General also seemed indifferent to this news, his son Keiran did not look pleased, but never the less stayed his tongue. Her father still held his gaze firmly locked with Swain's, his expression unreadable. Katarina would give anything to know what was running through his mind at that moment, but she was left as much in the dark as anyone else attempting to figure it out. At least she hoped that was the case.

"My friends, calm yourselves," Swain said in his calm, sophisticated tone. "Allow me to introduce Singed, the representative sent to us by the Council of Zaun." Swain gestured to the bald man seated next to him, the tall, lanky one Katarina had noted upon his entry. "Zaun has agreed to lend their assistance. They will provide the invasion forces with their newest siege machinery and battle equipment, as well as shock troops to use it. Singed himself will act as the main supplier." The bald man, Singed, merely nodded at this, but otherwise remained passive, relying on Swain to address the High Command. "The Zaunite siege weaponry will make short work of the forests and the Ionians will be forced to face our armies head on." Swain then looked to Marcus, a self-satisfied smirk on his thin lips. "They will not be able to hide."

Marcus nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "In that case, the success of this invasion will depend on those weapons. How do we ensure that they actually make the journey? You can be certain that Demacia will interfere with the transport, they already have a significant navy presence in the Northern reaches of the Guardian's Sea, as you well know."

"Indeed," Swain said drily, "which is why we will be staging the attack from Bilgewater." Another round of outrage erupted in the room. The waters around Bilgewater were notorious for piracy and many of the nobles felt the need to point out the obvious and vocalize their thoughts on the matter. Swain waited patiently, as they had their say. "There is no need to worry. If there is one thing you can trust a pirate to always do, it is take whatever action is most profitable. The residents of Bilgewater will have everything to gain and nothing to lose from supporting this operation. They will agree to host our forces and the pirates will not bother us."

The rest of the meeting was a lot less eventful. Units, commanders, rations, logistics, intelligence, all were taken up for debate. Preparation and planning were key elements for achieving victory in war, as in most other matters and though Katarina was well aware of that fact, she was still growing increasingly bored. After hours of stale strategizing General Darkwill finally declared the war council over and the great ironed doors were once again opened. Katarina was happy to finally escape and quick to follow her father out of the stuffy war room and into the maze of tunnels that made up the infrastructure of Skull Mountain.

"Miss Du Couteau!" Katarina and her father both stopped in their tracks and turned to face General Swain, who was approaching them from behind. "A moment of your time please," Swain said, his raspy voice echoing in the rocky corridor. Katarina looked to her father and upon receiving a slight nod from him followed Swain, who led her down a narrower path adjacent to the one they came from.

"It will be impossible to spare people like your father or even myself for this endeavor," Swain said quietly once he considered them far enough from the prying eyes and ears of the crowd still filing out of the war room. "Like your father so graciously pointed out Noxus will be left vulnerable throughout this whole ordeal, Zaunite assistance or not." Katarina maintained a neutral expression as she met the gaze of her superior. _Why tell me this?_ "I need people I can rely on in the invasion force. People I consider capable of carrying out more… 'delicate' tasks, than the average soldier," he finished after taking a slight pause to carefully pick his words.

Katarina remained silent, she had an idea where this was going and she was not sure whether she should be flattered or alarmed. During the latter part of the council, around the time Katarina had considered going on a stabbing frenzy from sheer boredom, Swain had mentioned that he wanted to establish a few special units comprised of distinguished individuals. It was not unthinkable that he wanted her to join one of them.

"Considering your more recent achievements, I want you to partake in the invasion force as the Commander of one the elite squads." _Thought as much… Wait, Commander?_ Despite her surprise, Katarina managed to uphold her neutral, professional expression. "Should you choose to accept, I will allow you to have a say in who joins your personal regiment. The position also comes with all the benefits of a regular Officer naturally.

Katarina nodded politely, but didn't say anything. The offer was tempting, very tempting. A war might be just the kind of distraction she needed to get her mind off her new found rival, but she didn't dare accept. Not right away. Swain never acted without purpose and she was certain this instance was no exception.

"You don't have to give me an answer right away. Your father should be informed first of course. I would hate to act without his consent in matters such as this." _Sure you would…_ "In any case, I believe I have taken enough of your time Miss Du Couteau, let me know as soon as you have made your decision." With that said Swain turned on his heel and left.

ooOoo

Marcus leaned back in his luscious armchair, as he poured himself a generous glass of cognac, slowly swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip. "So, what did Swain want to discuss?"

Katarina moved to sit on the window sill, as she usually did when her father asked her to come to his study. It was already dark outside, a testimony to the short days of autumn. "He wants me to lead one of the elite units in the invasion."

"I see. Very interesting, now, why would he go and do something like that?" Marcus mumbled. Mostly to himself Katarina presumed, as he wasn't look at her. "Did you accept?"

"No. He said I should clear it with you first."

Marcus raised an eyebrow at this, the characteristic sly smirk of the Du Couteau family forming at his lips, before he took another sip. "Did he now?"

Katarina sent her father a sideways glance. "You oppose the invasion?"

"I thought I made that pretty clear during the meeting."

"Yes but, Swain does have a point father," she said hesitantly.

Marcus looked at her intently then, his green eyes boring into hers. She did not look away, but his gaze made her feel as if she was ten years old again. A naïve and petulant child, who was much too headstrong for her own good and understood nothing of life's complicacies. Her father nodded slowly then let out a sigh before speaking again, his voice much lower. "Of course he does Katarina, if there was no sense to his words he would not so easily have bend the entire High Command to his will."

For a moment he regarded her seriously, as if considering whether or not this was a conversation he wanted to have, before he continued. "I do not have much to go on, but I do know that he did not set all this in motion on a sudden whim. I have intelligence that confirms that he has been moving troops away from our borders and amassing them in several of our coastal regions further south for some time now."

Marcus redirected his gaze to stare absentmindedly at the contents of his glass. "Demacia has noticed it too, the lesser resistance is the main reason Crownguard and the Prince are being so uncharacteristically pushy in their advance."

He shook his head and let out another sigh. "What Swain said today may have been presented as a proposal, but in reality it was just the official announcement of something he set in motion weeks ago. That he acts without the High Commands knowledge and consent and gets away with it scoff free shows how much influence he already has in Noxus. Darkwill for one must have known about it, yet he has done nothing. Darius too, but I assume he was let in on the whole ordeal by Swain himself. I knew of course, but only because I make it my business to know, and I can think of several others, who must have known as well."

Marcus set his glass down hard, spilling some of the precious drops on a stack of documents. "Dammit! Shadows gather in Noxus, we must be extremely cautious. Something else is going on, something I am missing."

Katarina had kept quiet, listening intently to what her father had to say. It was so rare for him to share his thoughts and express his emotions so freely and that he had chosen to confide in her filled her with a rare sense of pride. "You're saying…"

"That Swain has yet to reveal the true purpose of this farce of an invasion? Yes that is exactly what I am saying."

Katarina let her gaze drop to her feet, she had never cared for the political games that her sister so adored, yet she had unwillingly been swept up in one anyway apparently and the thought was both frustrating and a little unnerving. "But if he has no intention of revealing his motives, why in the world would he want me anywhere near his operation, the one that you openly opposed, knowing that I report directly to you?"

Marcus chuckled softly. "You are starting to ask the right questions."

"Should I decline then?"

Her father looked thoughtful for a moment. "No. I assume this is a test."

"A test?"

Marcus nodded. "A test. Note that Swain specifically told you to discuss this matter with me. He wants to know where I stand in all this. My reaction will basically determine whether he will consider me an ally or an obstacle from now on." Marcus let out a derisive snort. "He is trying to scare me into a corner to make me reveal my cards."

"I don't see how..?"

"If you decline, he will most likely think I am being cautious, because I know that there is more going on than what meets the eye. If you accept, he will expect you to act as my spy and he will reach the same conclusion, if you are revealed."

"Then what do we do? It sounds like he will consider you an obstacle either way."

"Simple, you don't give him the impression of being a spy. The reason he is bothering with this at all means he is uncertain how much I actually know. Even if I opposed him during the meeting, I only ever presented perfectly reasonable counter arguments from a military perspective. For all he knows I was merely acting, as a General should, in Noxus' best interest based on logic he, as a tactician, finds perfectly sensible."

Katarina was starting to see what her father was getting at. _I hate politics._ "So our standing with General Swain hinges on me being able to avoid blowing my cover as your informant?"

"That's right."

"You don't seem too worried."

"Should I be? I have faith in your ability to see this through. You are my daughter after all."

ooOoo

There was a soft click as she carefully closed the door behind her. It was a strange sensation. She was just closing a door, but it meant so much more. For nearly three months this had been her home. During that time, this had been the only place she had felt remotely safe, even if she knew better than to ever feel safe under her circumstances. This was the last time she was ever going to close that door and so she found her hand lingering on the doorknob a few seconds longer than it had to. She berated herself for her sentimentality she should be above such things. She was better trained than that. Yes, it was time she returned to her real home. A grand city with golden spires a continent away and there was no time to lose. Only hours earlier, she had infiltrated a war council as one of Captain Hawthorn's personal escorts. The Demacian legislative needed to know what had transpired during that meeting and Ionia had to be warned of the impeding Noxian invasion.

She let out a quiet sigh and started walking down the street. It was a chilly night and her breath drew small white clouds in the air. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her and gazed up at the moon. It was cold and uninviting, much like the city. She used to love the moon. When she was little she would beg her older brother to take her outside after bedtime so they could look at the moon and stars together. It felt like a very long time ago. Now the moon was just a painful reminder of happier days. She scoffed at her self-pity. It really should be beneath her.

Her soft footsteps on the cobblestones were the only sound to break the stillness of the night, but she knew better than to think herself alone. In Noxus someone or something was always watching, the shadows had eyes and ears here and though the black steel armor she wore would make most low-lives think twice before trying something, it did not guarantee her safety. She couldn't afford to let her guard down, not even for a second.

She passed a hooded figure, who saluted her as she went by. She saluted him back almost out of habit. It wasn't until she rounded the corner of the street that she noticed the man had started following her. She picked up her pace slightly, but did not divert from her intended path. Running was not an option, it would look suspicious. She put her hand to the hilt of the sword she wore at her side. It brought less comfort than she had hoped. She could defend herself with a blade, but she was no fighter and she couldn't risk using her magic for fear of blowing her cover. She headed down a smaller alley and stopped to chance a backwards glance. The figure had vanished.

As she scouted for him with a growing sense of apprehension, she caught a glint of steel in the moonlight in the periphery of her vision. She scrambled to draw her sword, but it was already too late, and the full weight of a grown man bore down on her, his blade carving a crimson path down her arm, when she put it up to defend herself. She managed to choke back a scream as she resorted to clawing desperately at the man's face in what she knew would be a hopeless struggle. The man grinned – a cruel, chastising grin, clearly savoring the sensation of having her completely at his mercy, after easily overpowering her. She could barely breathe, let alone move as he sat himself on her stomach, pinning both of her wrists to the ground above her head with just one hand.

Her mind went into overdrive as she desperately tried to think of something – anything that might get her out of her current predicament, but she couldn't think for the thundering sound of blood rushing in her ears. It felt like her heart was trying to leap out her chest and her breaths came out in short, rapid bursts, even as she tried to stay in control. She was terrified. Mousy brown hair changed to vibrant gold, muddy, green eyes to piercing blue and lines of stress and age were replaced by smooth, pale skin, as her illusion faltered in her panic. If the situation had been different she would have laughed at the man's reaction, he had the most comical look of surprise, as he watched her change with wide open eyes and a gaping mouth. But there really was nothing to laugh about. It only took the man seconds to regain his composure and put his knife to her throat. She glared up at him, though she wanted to cry, she kept defiance in her gaze. She was a Demacian after all and Demacians died proudly.

She was waiting for the inevitable, when the pressure of the cold steel against her neck suddenly lessened and the grip that held her wrists grew slack. With morbid fascination she watched, as a fine trail of blood paved its way from her assailant's mouth and down his chin. His eyes widened slightly before rolling backwards into a fixed stare and a choked gasp escaped his throat, as he collapsed on top of her, a throwing-knife embedded in his back. For a moment she just lay there, stunned, unable to process what had just transpired. When she finally looked up she was met with a pair of intense, hazel eyes. The eyes of her savior, the very same hooded figure she had saluted just minutes before.

ooOoo

Talon could scarcely believe what he was seeing. The girl was so much younger than he had expected. _Fourteen? Maybe fifteen._ For a nation that prided itself on righteousness and superior morals, Demacia sure as hell didn't seem to care much about letting children do their dirty work. Talon scoffed, he wasn't entirely sure why his master had bothered to task him with babysitting a Demacian spy of all things, but it was not his place to question the General's orders. "Get up."

Though he kept his voice low and his tone neutral, the girl still flinched at his words, her wide, blue eyes blinking rapidly as she seemingly fought to compose herself. It clearly took her some effort, but she managed to push the corpse off and stand up without his help. Talon noted how she clutched her left arm, where blood had darkened the color of her sleeve. They would have to take care of that later, or it might become a hindrance. Before that however, there were more pressing matters to attend to, like getting out of the Noxian capital alive. He motioned for her to follow him. She didn't.

"Who are you?"

 _Oh for the love of…_ He turned halfway to glare at her. Clearly she didn't realize the danger she was in and how much was at stake for him and his master, or she might have chosen a better time and place to ask questions. "The only thing you should be concerned with right now is getting back to Demacia."

A look of surprise came over the girl's face, but it only lasted a second, before she puffed out her cheeks much like a child would and crossed her arms, giving him an imperious look. Talon raised an eyebrow, quite unimpressed by her posturing. She looked ridiculous, wearing armor that was much too big for her slight, lithe form. "Yes it does matter, would you follow a complete stranger in enemy territory without any kind of explanation? You could be leading me into an ambush."

Talon rolled his eyes. "If I wanted you dead, I would not have bothered to intervene before."

"You could have staged this scenario in an attempt to gain my trust."

Talon regarded her silently for a moment. She was no longer shying away from him, meeting his gaze head on with those piercing blue eyes of hers. The girl did have a point, but they really couldn't afford to waste any more time.He pointed to the corpse at her feet. "This man was one of Swain's assassins. Swain knows what you are, so you can be certain there will be more of them," he said matter-of-factly. "I can get you out of the capital safely, but if you refuse my help well, good luck." Talon turned his back on the young Demacian and began to walk away, making sure to walk slowly. Now all he had to do was wait a few seconds and…

"Wait! Look, I do not trust you, but," she hesitated, her brave, little façade cracking for a second, "considering the circumstances, going with you would not even hurt my chances, would it?"

Talon wasn't sure whether she was asking him or debating with herself. All he really cared about at present was getting a move on. "I don't care how you choose to rationalize it. If you've made up your mind, follow me and be still." The girl glared at him indignantly, but fell into step behind him without uttering another word.

ooOoo

They had been walking for hours, only exchanging words when absolutely necessary. The stench of the sewer was barely tolerable and their only source of light was a small makeshift torch that did little more than ensure they could stay clear of sewer water – most of the time anyway. They had come across quite a few rats during their little trek, but had so far managed to avoid other humans. Talon scoffed. The people who lived in Noxus' gutters were mostly pathetic, sorry creatures with little purpose to their existence. Talon knew. He had been one of them, calling this labyrinth of piers home a long time ago. He glanced back at the young blonde, still following him like a bizarre, second shadow. She looked absolutely misplaced in the sewers, with her fine, golden hair and overall delicate features, yet she had not complained, not even about the stench. Or the wound on her arm... Talon let out a sigh and held up a hand motioning for her to stop.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, keeping her eyes locked on him. In case he was going to try something Talon assumed, as if that would have made a difference.

"We need to do something about your arm."

"What?"

"Your arm," he pointed to the wounded limb, she was still clutching tightly. "You can't go on like this." He was stating a fact, she looked exhausted, her face paler, her eyes less vibrant and her breath slightly faster than when he had first seen her. She looked at him in disbelief at first, but nodded in consent after glancing at her bloody, ruined sleeve. She vied slightly away from him, as he approached, turning her face to the side, a slight blush on her cheeks. Whether she was embarrassed for getting wounded or because he was moving too close for comfort, Talon couldn't say. Demacians were generally standoffish, only really intimate with close friends and family, so it could be either.

"Show me your arm." She hesitated for a moment, before relenting wordlessly, still refusing to look at him. He was none too gentle, when he tore off the blood drenched sleeve. She winced slightly and stifled a surprised whimper. Under different circumstances, he might have been inclined to apologize, but he really didn't have time for treating her like glass. Besides, she was Demacian. Talon had seen worse of course, but it was still a nasty gash, spanning almost the entire length of her forearm, cutting well into the muscle in places. Well, at the very least no bone was showing.

Talon cleaned the wound as best he could, scrubbing at it with the cleanest piece of cloth he could find in his possession. It was less than ideal, but it would have to do. After the cleaning, he bandaged it, nice and tight, in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. He let his hand linger briefly on her arm. Apart from the initial whimper, the girl had made no sound throughout the whole ordeal and he really had not been very considerate. Secretly, he was impressed, something that happened rarely, but this stubborn, little girl had taken everything he'd thrown at her to this point in stride. He shook his head. She was still a Demacian.

"Let's move. It's not far to the surface now."

ooOoo

It was snowing, when they finally made it out of the Noxian sewers. After coping for hours with the putrid stench of rot and various unmentionables, she appreciated a breath of fresh air more than ever, even if the cold made her shiver. The outlet was a good distance away from the outmost city wall well hidden from curious eyes amongst a myriad of boulders and loose rocks on a steep hillside. She glanced at her hooded guide, wondering what would happen now that they had made it this far. He had promised to get her out of the Noxian capital and he had stayed true to his word, he had no obligation to help her further. "I can take it from here, she said, trying to sound more confident than she was feeling."

The Noxian stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "Is that so?"

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. It annoyed her to no end that she couldn't get a proper read of his expression, hidden as it was beneath the shadow of his hood. "Look I am grateful for your help, but I can manage the rest by myself. I have allies nearby who…"

He held up a hand to silence her mid-sentence. "You had allies. They were stationed in a small farm house about three and a half miles west of where we are now, just a little way off the road. Don't bother going there. They're dead, who do you think gave you up?"

It took her some effort to hold her composure. If what he said was true, then she was practically stranded. She might be out of the capital, but she was still in Noxus. She took a deep breath and clenched her fists to stop them from trembling. The road back home had already been a daunting endeavor, now it was impossible. _What do I do now? What do I..?_

She yelped with surprise, at the sudden feeling of a hand on her shoulder. "Stay focused, just follow my lead," the Noxian said his voice even and low, before he let go of her. It was somehow sobering, the words of this mysterious companion of hers. _'Just follow my lead.'_ What choice did she have? She smiled bitterly once he looked away. What would her mother say if she knew she had entrusted a Noxian stranger with her life? She shook her head, almost chuckling, taking some pleasure in imagining her mother's indignant expression. She would be furious for sure.

They stayed clear of the roads, as they made their way across the landscape in silence. An hour passed by, or maybe two? She was finding it difficult to keep track of time. All she could do was watch the ground, as it was covered by a thin, white blanket. Behind them, the silhouette of Noxus' skyline, with Skull Mountain towering in the center was framed against the deep blue canvas of the dark ocean beyond the city. Looking back at all the little lights it was hard, even for a born and raised Demacian, to deny that Noxus held some beauty and grandeur. She stopped and looked at the young man walking slightly ahead of her. He had taken an enormous risk by helping her like he did tonight.

"What?"

"Nothing." She sent him a sheepish smile, slightly embarrassed that she had been caught staring. He rolled his eyes at her and continued moving. Not all things Noxus were bad after all it seemed.

She was lost in her own thoughts, when the Noxian diverted from the narrow path they had been following and led her into a small grove of trees. Two horses, packed with provisions and well hidden from view stood waiting for them. Without a word, he handed her the reins of one of the horses, a fox-colored gelding. She took them hesitantly and sent him a questioning look, but he ignored her silent plea for answers and went to mount the other horse, a dark brown mare.

"My orders are to see you safely back in Demacian territory. Who I take orders from is irrelevant. We have our own reasons for wanting you alive, you'll learn why soon enough." She nodded, knowing that asking any further questions would be met with either a snarky remark or a wall of silence. This man only provided answers when he felt so inclined, not when he was asked. It was the only thing she really knew about him.

"Can you take me to Northglen Garrison then? It is a Demacian outpost just a few miles west of your borders not far from the wellspring of the Serpentine River in the Howling Marshes." She practically held her breath as she waited for his answer.Was she asking too much?

"Alright," he answered hesitantly, urging his horse forward into a trot. "Now hurry up."

She could barely contain the dazzling smile that split her face. _'The Demacian Prince and Crownguard are pushing our borders along the Serpentine.'_ The words General Du Couteau had uttered during the Noxian war council were fresh in her memory. How many years had it been now? She followed suit, urging her horse into a quick trot to catch up with her Noxian companion. _I will see you soon brother…_

ooOoo

A/N: And that's it for the fourth installment. I apologize for taking so long this time around. I never meant for it to take three and a half months for an update. That's right it's really been that long! I have had exams, and moved out of home along with a bunch of other real life things. On top of that I was stuck on the war meeting forever ugh it was really a challenge to write. It took me a month before I was somewhat happy with it. Hopefully it won't come across as too boring. It is a necessary evil for setting up the plot. Also I ended up cutting this chapter short lest it becomes too long, it's already longer than the previous one, sitting comfortably above the 8000 words mark. In any case, as always reviews and other forms of feedback are greatly appreciated and again, sorry for the long wait this time around.

Here comes the skippable lore section. It almost feels obligatory for me to write one by now. Reading the lore revolving around the whole Ionian invasion ordeal mentioned in the god old Journal of Justice, it was hard for me to place it timeline wise, because as far as I could see the event happened during the whole Kalamanda thing. This is very unpractical as Katarina plays a major role in both. Basically, I have decided that the Ionian invasion came first because it makes more sense in my plot and can clear up some of the issues presented by the fact that Katarina supposedly takes part in two major conflicts at once with half a continent in between. I suppose it would work in the old lore considering teleport and such, but summoners are not cannon anymore, hence I am very very very hesitant about going anywhere near summoner spells… I hope you can understand and that this won't discourage any of you from staying with the story.

Until next chapter:

~WhiteWinterDragon


	5. The Witches' Briar V

A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

And here is the fifth installment. As ever thank you for all the positive feedback I have received. It is a great feeling to know that all the work I put into these chapters is appreciated. You guys are the best. Enjoy!

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter V

The Witches' Briar

The crisp, frosty air bit against his bare skin, as he sidestepped an incoming thrust from Jarvan's lance, taking care not to slip in the powdery, white snow that covered the garrison training grounds. As always their sparring had gathered an audience. Usually he wouldn't mind, his men could learn a lot from watching, but right now, they were just adding to a long list of distractions. Garen grit his teeth in annoyance, swinging at the Prince with an overhead strike and applying much more force than was really necessary, or wise. Jarvan deftly brought his lance up and let the sword-blade slide along its stem before taking a quick step forward and tapping Garen's leg, which had been carelessly left exposed in his overextended position. Garen let out a low growl. He was fighting like an amateur.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Jarvan asked in a quiet voice, so only they could hear.

"What are you on about?" Garen snapped, sounding more defensive than he intended, as he pushed the Prince back towards the training ground fence.

"You have let me land a hit on you four times in one spar, that's very unlike you," Jarvan said, trying to disengage from their deadlock.

"Maybe you just got better," Garen mumbled, as he continued forcing the Prince backwards.

"We both know that is not it. You have been… sloppy ever since the siege of Andras, so I am asking you again, not as your Prince, but your friend. What is bothering you?"

Count on Jarvan to see straight through him. He shouldn't be surprised really. They had known each other since they were young children. Garen let out a heavy sigh and fixed Jarvan with a glare that would have made anyone else scramble to get out of his way. "Nothing is wrong." He put emphasis on every word as he bit them out, challenging the Prince to disagree.

Jarvan shook his head, but didn't say anything else and lowered his weapon to signify that he was done sparring. "Thanks for sparring with me," Garen said curtly, shouldering his sword and stomping out of the arena, grabbing his discarded shirt from the fence on the way out.

He headed straight for his quarters for some much needed alone time, his men keeping a good amount of distance, as he walked through the garrison camp. He was being unfair, he knew that. Jarvan worried for his well-being, his men too. It was kind of endearing really how they all went out of their way to try and improve his mood, but what he really needed was for them to just give him some space.

Garen let himself fall face-down on his cot as soon as he entered the confines of his room in the barracks, carelessly depositing his sword in the corner. _Fuck…_ He turned his head slightly to glance at his reflection on the pristine blade of the weapon his King had tasked him to carry. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of a lack of sleep and his hair was messier than usual, his fringes poking every which way. He even had a nice stubble going. Garen let out a humorless chuckle. If his mother could see him she would have a heart attack, he looked like a bum. With a sigh he got up and poured some water from a pitcher on his nightstand into a small basin he kept near the foot of his bed. He really needed a shave. The water felt cool and refreshing on his face as he set to work, while trying to collect his thoughts.

The past two months had been trying. After the Sinister Blade had successfully reclaimed Sion's head, Garen had received orders to return to the front and push the Noxian borders along the Serpentine. The Noxian forces that had been marching on Andras had dissipated and withdrawn shortly after they were halted at the fortress and he had met little resistance during his advance. It was unusual and alarming. The Noxians might be trying to lure them in, make them extend too far with a false sense of security so the Vanguard and the Prince could be cut off from the majority of the Demacian army. Or they could be up to something else entirely. You never knew where Noxians were concerned.

Garen dried his face and seated himself on his cot, sending his pillow a rueful look. It was mid-day, but he was exhausted and some sleep would do him good. _Who am I kidding?_ For weeks now, his dreams had been haunted by a pair of mesmerizing, emerald eyes and glimpses of crimson hair. He couldn't even remember the last time he slept properly. The taunting visage of Katarina Du Couteau seemed to be burned into his mind. It was distracting, it was infuriating and more importantly, it was wrong in every way imaginable.

He pulled out a bundle of cloth, well hidden under his bed. Wrapped within was the dagger she had left behind during their fight. He studied the curved blade in his hand, as he had many times before. The sight of the dark steel served as a stark reminder of that night. As ashamed as he was for thinking it, he really wanted to fight her again. He couldn't justify his strange fixation with the Noxian assassin, so he tried to rationalize it instead. He had fought The Hand of Noxus once and he regularly sparred with Jarvan and the King's personal guard Xin Zhao, all of them were formidable in their own way and yet nothing could compare to his fight with the Sinister Blade. He shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. He could be tried for treason for thinking so highly of a Noxian. It was a sad, but undeniable truth that no one would understand the way he felt. That fighting an equal brought validation to his existence like nothing and no one else could.

ooOoo

The snow was falling more rapidly now. Talon observed silently as the young Demacian held out a trembling hand, watching the delicate snowflakes that landed there, as they melted on her palm. She shivered from the cold and drew her traveling cloak more tightly around her. She was ill-equipped for the harsh winter weather, a testimony to their hasty and unorthodox departure from Noxus. Still, she was alive – for now anyway.

"Let me see your arm," he said. She obliged without a word. Not a good sign. He prodded lightly at her bandaged limb, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. It had been what? Four weeks, nearly five since she sustained the injury, but it hadn't healed up. Exposed to the elements and with no means to properly treat it while constantly on the move, the wound had become infected. She had said nothing, putting on a brave face. Whether it was out of some misguided, Demacian sense of pride or because she was trying to avoid becoming too much of a burden, he couldn't be sure. _Foolish girl…_ Either way, it had taken its toll on her. Her cheeks were red and hot and her eyes dim from the fever she had acquired between the cold and her injury. She was in need of proper medical attention and preferably as soon as possible.

"I'll try to get a fire going." A curt nod was the only response he received. It was ironic that one of his greatest concerns at present was the well-being of a Demacian teenager. Then again, if she died all his effort would be wasted. Besides, the General needed her alive. Talon withdrew a simple, sealed envelope from the confines of his cloak. All this, just so she could pass on a message. He glanced at the young girl, as she sat in the snow, huddled up against the trunk of a large oak tree.

"You are leaving." Her voice was barely above a whisper and she didn't bother to look at him as she spoke.

"Yes." There was no point in denying it. He could take her no further. The Northglen Garrison was only about four miles further up the Serpentine River and it would be foolish of him to venture any closer. She would have to finish the journey there on her own. Considering her weakened state, he wondered if she could.

She nodded solemnly at his response. "Thank you for helping me."

"Don't get the wrong idea. I have my own reasons for doing this." He blew softly at the small flame he had managed to procure, using his hands to shield it from the freezing wind. "Come sit by the fire, it will help keep you warm." He kept a keen eye on her, as she slowly got up and walked over on legs that were shaky from exhaustion.

"Regardless, I am still grateful."

Talon scoffed, leave it to Demacians to try and turn business all emotional. He handed her the sealed envelope and received a questioning look. "Make sure that your Prince gets this."

She took the envelope, inspecting it carefully. "What is this?"

"A message."

She sent him a halfhearted glare for pointing out the obvious. "And what does it say?"

"I don't know." She regarded him with a look of disbelief, but said nothing. It was true though. He had no idea what the message said, or why it was for the Prince specifically.

"Delivering a message seems… like a small price to pay, considering the trouble you went through to get me this far."

 _Tell me about it…_ The General had neglected to share his specific reasons for wanting the girl safely back in Demacia. At a guess, Talon speculated, he wanted her to report what she had learned at the war council in High Command in the hope that Demacia would step in on Ionia's behalf and unknowingly thwart whatever plans Swain had for the invasion. And then there was the message. Talon eyed the envelope in the girl's hand thoughtfully. His master was knowingly committing treason and it worried him. There was no love lost between General Du Couteau and the kingdom of Demacia, for him to actively involve Noxus' oldest enemy, he must be choosing the lesser of two evils. Talon clenched his fists. Whatever was going on in the High Command, something must be wrong, very wrong. He needed to get back to Noxus as fast as possible.

"You look troubled." The girl had gotten annoyingly adept at reading his mood and expressions during the time they had traveled together. She was generally perceptive and caught onto things quickly. Talon had realized early on that his every word and action was being carefully analyzed. Well, she was a spy, even if she didn't look like one.

"And you look tired," he muttered. She raised a delicate eyebrow at him, but took the hint, curling up into a tight little ball as close to the warmth of the fire as she could get without another word. Talon stayed by her side until her breathing evened out and he was sure she was asleep. Letting out a sigh, he draped his own cloak over her sleeping form. "Goodbye little spy."

ooOoo

She woke to the sound of birds chirping and the wind moving through the leafless canopies of the trees above her. The fire had burned out during the night, leaving behind only smoking embers, glowing red and hot in the semi-darkness of the early winter morning. She sat up slowly, the motion sending her into a coughing fit. "Are you there?" she asked quietly. No answer. Not that she had been expecting one. There was no sign of him or the horses. _You could have at least let me say goodbye._ Slowly, she got to her feet, a small smile grazing her lips, when she noticed the Noxian's dark travel-cloak slide off her form. She staggered a bit as she tried to find her balance on legs that were numb with cold, before picking up the worn piece of cloth and wrapping herself in its confines. Just beyond the grove of trees they had camped in, the Serpentine was winding its way through the landscape, like a great, icy serpent of myth. If she just followed the course of the river, she would see her brother by nightfall – if her body didn't give out on her first.

She took one shaky step after another. It was slow going in the deep snow, but the thought of who awaited at her destination brought her the determination she needed to keep moving forward. During her long journey from Noxus, she had spent a lot of time thinking about her brother and their upcoming reunion. She was happy, almost ecstatic, but also nervous, maybe even scared. A lot had happened in the five years they had been apart. She had certainly changed a lot. What if he couldn't recognize her? What if he was different from how she remembered him? What if he had changed? He had been her age the last time she saw him, by now he must be all grown up. She shook her head, trying desperately to think of something else. _Please let him be the same._

"You! Stop right there!"

Consumed by her thoughts and doubts she had not even noticed the band of riders, before they came galloping towards her. Judging from their polished steel-plate armor and their blue capes, they belonged to the Dauntless Vanguard, most likely a patrol unit. As soon as they reached her, they formed a circle around her to affectively prevent any chance of escape. Quite unnecessary, but how were they supposed to know that she had no intention of running away from them. In fact, she was relieved by their appearance. She was not in a good state and while she tried to stay optimistic, she was practically running on willpower alone.

"What's a young lass like you doing all the way out here?" asked one of the men, sitting astride a bay mare.

"Oh cut the charm Caldor and use your eyes," said one of the others. She recognized his voice as the one who had called out for her to stop. The man must be around her brother's age. His face was somewhat pointed, with a sharp chin, fairly accented cheekbones and dark, narrow eyes. "Can you not see what she is wearing?"

 _Oh…_ She had ditched the black plate-mail cuirass of the Noxian elite guard at her first given chance, but the uniform she had worn beneath it was still the same and it was currently showing through the gap of her cloaks. She cursed under her breath, berating herself for her obvious oversight. Just what had she been thinking, waltzing into Demacian territory dressed like a member of the Ebon Guard? She could tell them who she was, but this was one of those cases where the truth would sound so absurd it might only make things worse.

"Must be a deserter," the man with the pointy face said, drawing his sword from its scabbard. "Do you know the punishment for desertion in Demacia?"

"According to the Doctrines of Valor as they are recorded in the Measured Tread verse four-hundred and ninety-two through seven, desertion is considered one of the ultimate acts of cowardice and as such is punishable by exile." The words came instantly and without hesitation. Her mother had seen to it that she and her brother knew the Measured Tread by heart and even now, more than ten years later, she could still quote it flawlessly. She might have been inclined to laugh, if she wasn't feeling so sick and exhausted. The band of soldiers showed a wide range of surprised faces at her reply. One of them even pulled out a worn, leather-bound copy of the fabled book from his saddlebag, flipping hastily through the pages, utter disbelief apparent in his expression.

"And," she continued, "according to the Doctrines of Benevolence, as a non-hostile war-captive I am entitled to a fair judgement. Unless one of you happens to hold a rank equivalent to or above Major, you cannot sentence me." She paused a moment. "You are from the Dauntless Vanguard. Take me to your superior, he will vouch for me."

The man with the pointed face spat at her feet and urged his horse forward, sword at the ready. "You have got a lot of nerve Noxian! Thinking you can just make dema…"

"Bakaris! That is enough," the soldier who had been called Caldor said, moving his horse to block the other's path. "She demands her right to fair judgement and we must oblige. The Commander can decide her fate."

Bakaris sneered at the other man, before looking down at her. "I dare you to try anything Noxian," he said, his voice filled with venom. "One wrong move, just the slightest misstep and I will cut you down, Measured Tread or not."

The soldier called Caldor shook his head slightly before dismounting his horse. "I need to make sure you don't carry any weapons," he said quietly, as he approached her.

She nodded in understanding and consent. The man was both professional and efficient, as he searched her. When he touched her wounded arm, she had to bite back a hiss from the sharp jolt of pain it sent all the way up to her shoulder. Looking at her intently, he carefully pulled up her sleeve, revealing the dirty, bloody makeshift bandage that covered her wound. "This requires medical attention," he said, almost berating in his tone. She said nothing, avoiding the soldier's gaze. He let out a sigh. "You better ride with me, in your state it would take forever to reach the garrison. If you made it at all," he added solemnly after looking at the bleak, white sky. "It looks like there's a snowstorm coming."

ooOoo

"Commander!" The loud sound of an armored fist beating against his wooden door made Garen cringe.

"It's open," he said, as he put down his feather-pen, clenching and unclenching his fist to rid himself of writing-cramp. He sent the enormous stack of documents on his desk a reproachful glare, he really hated paperwork.

A private entered, wide-eyed and short on breath.

"What's the matter soldier?" Garen asked sounding a bit harsher than he intended.

The young soldier flinched slightly. "Uhm Lieutenant Caldor and Lieutenant Bakaris have returned from patrol Sir. They… They have a prisoner with them, a young, Noxian girl who claims to know you."

Garen narrowed his eyes at this. There had been no reports of Noxians sighted in the area for the past two weeks, what in the world was a single Noxian doing in the midst of the Howling Marches? In the part that was under Demacian control no less. More importantly, why would a Noxian claim to know him? He rose from his chair and went to don his breastplate and pauldrons, equipping and adjusting the heavy armor swiftly and with ease born from years of practice. "Show me to this prisoner," he said picking up his sword and throwing on his characteristic blue scarf before he pushed past the private and out the door.

The private led him to the Eastern garrison entrance where Caldor and Bakaris' patrol unit was waiting for him. With them was a young girl, probably in her mid-teens. She looked positively miserable, her long, golden hair hung limply and damp, her visage was pale and somewhat gaunt and she looked tiny flanked by his two Lieutenants. She was dressed in the uniform characteristic for the Noxian Ebon Guard, but to Garen's surprise, there was something familiar about her. As he came closer his heart skipped a beat when it finally dawned on him who she was. "Lux?"

ooOoo

The relief she felt when he had recognized her was indescribable. It had been so long since she had been called by that name. Her nickname, reserved for those close to her. The voice that had spoken it was a deep baritone, it was familiar and yet completely different from how she remembered it – the voice that had made her laugh every time it broke by accident, the voice that had told her stories of valor and chivalry when she was scared of the dark or the thunder, the voice of her beloved big brother. She had not even realized how much she had dreaded this moment of truth and she was trembling when she lifted her head to look at him for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

The man standing before her was everything and nothing like she had expected. He was still tall, very tall and still handsome. The messy auburn hair was the same as she remembered, but cropped shorter. Yet he was different. Where her brother had once been sweet and naïve, there was now a certain harshness. It broke her heart. His eyes, vivid blue, same shape and color as her own, bore the look of someone who had seen too much and she wondered if her eyes looked the same way to him. She choked back a sob and stumbled forwards, the soldiers by her side did not move to detain her. "Brother," she said, as she moved towards him, her good arm extended. She needed to touch him, to make sure that he would not simply vanish when she reached out for him, as he had so many times in her nightmares. Lux let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding when she felt the sting of the cold steel of his breastplate underneath her palm.

She could hold it back no longer, silent tears rolled down her cheeks, as she let her forehead rest against him, barely tall enough to reach his chest. She grasped desperately at the fabric of the blue scarf around his neck, the scarf she had gifted him, wanting to never again let him go. She felt the familiar touch of a large hand ruffling her hair. "You got bigger sunshine," he whispered and knelt down to return her embrace. Lux had no idea how long they stayed like that. It didn't matter that they had an audience, it didn't matter that she could barely stand, it didn't matter that they had both changed, because his embrace was sincere and real and just like she remembered. She would like nothing more than to stay like that forever, but she owed a great debt to a certain Noxian.

"Jarvan, is Jarvan here?" she asked quietly. Garen nodded and looked to the side beckoning someone over. Following his gaze, Lux saw the approaching form of her brother's oldest friend. The Prince had changed too. In his grey eyes, once so full of humor and mischief, Lux saw doubt and stress and the weight of the crown he was destined to bear. Rummaging through her cloak, she produced the envelope given to her by her savior and offered it to the Prince, who took it with a solemn dignity that felt out of place from someone she had known all her life. Then she closed her eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

"You're hurt," Garen said, his voice filled with sudden worry, as she slumped against him. She wanted to say that she was ok, but she was too tired. "Lieutenant, have one of the medics sent to my quarters."

"Yes Sir!"

Her brother's gentle hands, as he easily lifted her into the air and cradled her form in his arms, was the last thing she felt before slipping into unconsciousness.

ooOoo

Jarvan drummed his fingers on his desk, an incessant habit of his. He could already hear his father scolding him for it. A King should always stay collected and in control anything less would be interpreted as a sign of weakness. He let out a sigh and vied to curl his hand into a fist instead. _What a mess…_ On his desk in front of him lay a piece of paper. A single page of yellowed parchment torn from a book he knew very well. For hours now, he had been staring at it, trying to make sense of it. He picked up the envelope again, turning it in his hands. No signature, no seal, nothing that could reveal its sender, not surprising really. He had so many questions. What exactly did the message mean? Who had it come from? Why was Luxanna the messenger and how did she come by it? Why was she here in the middle of nowhere? And why was the message meant for him specifically? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone forcefully opening his door. Jarvan didn't have to look up to know who it was. There was only one person in the garrison who would enter his chambers without asking for his permission or at the very least knocking first.

"How is Lux?"

"Sleeping. The medic says she'll be fine, once she gets some rest."

Jarvan nodded slowly. "Glad to hear it."

An awkward silence fell upon them. Jarvan knew why Garen had come. He wanted answers. Answers Jarvan would be unable to give, because he didn't have them either. A few minutes went by, with none of them making a move to break the silence. Garen had even started pacing, throwing him an expectant glance every now and then. Finally getting tired of it Garen slammed both his palms down on his desk. "Damnit Jarvan! What the hell is she doing here? Why won't you say anything?" There was hurt in his friend's voice. Hurt and anger.

"Because I don't know either," Jarvan said with a sigh.

Garen turned away before quietly adding: "She's been acting as a spy. Hasn't she?"

"The implications certainly point in that direction." Jarvan had reached the same conclusion. It was the only plausible explanation he could come up with.

"I was told she was studying at the College of Magic. I was told time and again that I couldn't see her. Now I know why." Garen shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. "I am such an idiot." Jarvan wished he could do something, anything. Garen was and always had been the stubborn, but steadfast rock he could depend on in a crisis. Seeing him like this, looking positively tortured by the thought that he had somehow failed his sister was harder than he dared admit.

"There is no point in blaming yourself. Lux would not hold this against you, so you should not either." Jarvan paused to take a deep breath. "I will discuss this with my father. We need to get to the bottom of this mess. At the very least," he added, "I will try to ensure that Lux won't have to be dispatched as a spy again."

Garen nodded – a look of gratitude on his face, which was quickly replaced by one of disgust. "Yeah, I need to have a little discussion with my mother too," he said his voice bitter and void of its usual warmth.

Jarvan nodded, this whole ordeal was rotten. Demacia had always prided itself on serving as a moral example for other countries. Yet here they were apparently sending young girls straight into the wolves' den, covering it up with lies and deceit. _Lies and deceit…_ Jarvan grabbed the torn page, scanning the words once more. "Garen, what do you make of this?" he asked, holding the parchment out for Garen to take a look.

Garen narrowed his eyes, and then looked up in confusion once he had finished reading. "This is a page from The Measured Tread." He turned the page around, studying it for a moment. "And it's from an old copy – a very old copy."

Jarvan nodded. "Do you know the context?"

Garen read the page again and stayed silent for a moment, before handing it back to Jarvan. "It's one of the verses that make up the Doctrines of Truth. It alludes to an old fable about a noble Prince who left his homeland to seek glory and honor. When the Prince returned, he found that his country had been corrupted from within during his absence and he learned the lessons of truth, deceit and treachery the harsh way."

"And what about this?" Jarvan asked pointing out a specific sentence. "What does, 'lest thou be fooled by the beauty of the witches' briar,' mean?"

Garen shrugged. "The witches' briar is another word for the common dog rose. It's quite pretty, but it spreads like weed and strangles surrounding foliage. Here it's most likely a metaphor for how looks can be deceiving." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then added. "It's a popular heraldic symbol too. Many of the noble houses have one in their family-crest."

"A rose huh?" Count on a Crownguard to know the most obscure things about heraldic symbolism. Jarvan shook his head with a small smile, before letting out a tired sigh. "Then… Is this message a warning against treason within the noble houses of Demacia, or…"

"… Is it a trap, meant to sow seeds of doubt and turn them against each other," Garen finished for him.

"Exactly," Jarvan said, rubbing his temples. "Perhaps Lux can provide us with more perspective, once she feels better. Until then we better keep this to ourselves."

Garen nodded in understanding. It looked like he was about to say something else, when there was a loud knock on the door. "Enter," Jarvan said.

The door opened revealing Caldor, one of Garen's Lieutenants. "I'm sorry to disturb you my Lord," he said, bowing before his Prince, "but I was told the Commander was here." He turned to Garen, his face pale and worried. "There has been an assassination attempt, your sister she…" The poor Lieutenant barely made it out on the way in time to avoid being plowed down by Garen, who had taken off before Caldor even finished his sentence.

Jarvan jumped to his feet and grabbed his lance before following suit, the distraught Lieutenant right at his heels. "Luxanna, is she alright?"

"She has come to no harm my Lord. One of the rangers intercepted the assassin." Jarvan nodded, relieved. Having spent so much time with the Crownguard siblings as a child, Garen and Luxanna might as well have been his own younger brother and sister and he loathed the thought that she might have been hurt further.

Jarvan and Caldor did not manage to catch up to Garen before they reached his room in the barracks. Luxanna sat wrapped in a thick blanket on the edge of her brother's bed and next to her sat another young woman, probably in her late teens, with dark hair and stunning, amber eyes. Jarvan found it hard to get a proper read of Lux's expression. She looked tired and she was shaking slightly, yet her visage was strangely void of emotion. It was unnerving, so different from the lighthearted and cheerful face he remembered her for. A magnificent, blue eagle, perched on Garen's desk, caught his attention when it flapped its wings a few times. Garen himself was further down the adjacent corridor, pacing back and forth, in front of four of his sentries, who looked like they were ready to sprint for cover at the first given opportunity. Garen stopped pacing for a moment. "Dismissed," he said his voice low and dangerous. The sentries quickly saluted, before practically scrambling to get out. "Ranger. Report," Garen snapped, as he came to stand next to Jarvan, addressing the woman by Lux's side.

The young ranger looked up at him, eyes large and wary and the eagle launched from its place on the desk to perch on the ranger's shoulder instead, spreading his wings and puffing up his feathers to look bigger. Jarvan shook his head, though Garen probably didn't mean to, he could be rather intimidating, especially when he was angry or worried. "Garen, calm down."

For a moment it looked like Garen was about to argue, but then thought better of it. He took a deep breath, clearly making an effort to compose himself, before crossing his arms and taking a few steps back so he could lean against the wall. "Can you explain what happened here?" Jarvan asked keeping his tone calm and neutral. "Quinn is it not?" The ranger looked surprised that he knew her by name.

"You were the scout who reported Noxus' advance on Andras two months ago?" Garen interjected from the side. Quinn nodded.

"Yes Sir. Well, me and Valor did." She indicated the large eagle, when Garen sent her a confused look. The bird, Valor, had calmed down a bit now that Garen had stepped back some, but he was still keeping a watchful, golden eye on him. Under different circumstances, Jarvan might have been inclined to laugh at the little display between the two, but right now he was more concerned with finding out exactly what was going on. Quinn seemed to understand this as well, as she began a recount of what had transpired.

"I was on my way back from having dinner in the mess hall, when Valor all of a sudden started acting up. It was dark and it was snowing, so I couldn't see very well, but I noticed someone, a man, heading for the Commander's quarters. I thought it was strange, because I had been told that Lady Luxanna was not to be disturbed and well…" Quinn paused for a moment, sending Garen a sideways glance, "I would have been able to recognize the Commander, if it was him." _Not surprising…_ Jarvan thought, a small smile forming on his lips. Garen was nearly a head taller than Jarvan himself and broader around the shoulders too, he tended to stick out alright.

Quinn cleared her throat awkwardly, before continuing. "I decided to follow the man, to see what he was up to, then I heard Lady Luxanna shout out and I came here. Between the two of us, Valor and I managed to apprehend him, before he did her any harm but…" She pointed to the end of the corridor, where a broken window caused a continuous draft. "He escaped through that window as soon as I confronted him. I could have pursued him, but I thought it would be wrong to leave Lady Luxanna alone."

Lux offered the ranger a small, sweet smile. Her trembling had stopped, but she still looked sick and pale. "Thank you for staying," she said quietly, "and call me Lux, 'Lady Luxanna' makes me sound old." She looked hesitant for a moment, glancing back and forth between Jarvan and her brother, as if considering whether or not to tell them something. "Jarvan, brother, there is something I need to tell you." She took a deep breath. "I have been spying on Noxus on and off for the past year."

"We figured as much," Jarvan said, though he was surprised by how long it had been going on.

"About five weeks ago, I infiltrated the Noxian High Command and witnessed a grand war council. General Swain intends to invade Ionia and by the look of things, he has been making preparations for it for a while."

"That would explain, why we have had so little Noxian activity lately," Garen said, looking thoughtful. "It's settled then. Caldor, have your unit start making the necessary preparations for a trip back to the capital. We are leaving in three days."

"Y-Yes Sir!" Caldor said, before hurrying off to carry out his orders.

Garen let out a sigh. "You should get some rest Lux, you are coming with us."

"Garen, the medic said she would need at least a week of bedrest, she is unfit for that kind of travel surely you realize that," Jarvan exclaimed, he could barely believe what he was hearing.

"Of course I do, but this place is clearly not safe for her, tonight has showed as much. Besides, the legislative needs to know about Ionia as soon as possible," the Commander looked at Jarvan intently.

Jarvan remained silent for a moment, what could he say? Lux was not fit to travel, but Garen had a point, if Quinn had not been nearby, things would have turned out quite differently and not for the better. He let out a sigh, fixing his gaze on Lux. "Do you think you can manage?" he asked seriously.

Lux offered him a small smile. It was not as reassuring, as she probably hoped it would be. "I will be alright."

Jarvan nodded slowly. "Very well then. I will come with you."

Meanwhile, Quinn was looking at Garen hesitantly. It was obvious that she wanted to say something, but was unsure whether it was out of line. "Commander, if it's alright, I would like a chance to track down the assassin."

Garen remained silent for a moment, contemplating the ranger's offer. "That won't be necessary," he finally said. "I already gave orders for half of the Vanguard to mobilize and start the search for him."

"But Sir, surely the Vanguard is better dispositioned to guard the garrison. Valor and I can move much faster than armored infantry, even if they can cover more ground, the assassin could easily escape them, if he just keeps moving."

"I agree," Jarvan interjected, "having a hundred men searching for one assassin is a bit excessive. And in this blizzard?"

Garen simply leveled him with an even glare. "Considering we have had such a breach in security tonight, I'd say their eyes could use the practice," he growled before stomping off.

"Your brother can really be a piece of work sometimes," Jarvan muttered, receiving an apologetic smile from Lux. "Still, you should do as he says and get some rest," he added.

Lux nodded in understanding. "Thank you again Quinn."

"Uhm, you're welcome," Quinn said, as she quickly got to her feet and followed Jarvan out of the room, Valor setting off to soar above them.

Jarvan waited until they were properly out of ear-shot. "Quinn."

"Your majesty?"

"I want to take you up on your offer. I want you to track down the assassin."

Quinn sent him a skeptical look. "But Commander Crownguard said…"

"Never mind, what Garen said. He will come around once he has cooled off, don't worry."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, still not convinced. "Pardon me for asking Sir, but does he not technically outrank you?"

Jarvan couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "Yes he does, at least where the military is concerned." The distribution of power in Demacia was a rather complex affair. In matters of state Jarvan, as heir to the throne, had the more say between the two of them. Being Prince had its perks. But that was pretty much all there was to it though, perks. The real power in Demacia lay with the legislative, which was made up of representatives from the noble families – and his father. Of course the King had a say in everything, but without the support of the majority of the noble houses, he did not possess any real power to act with. House Crownguard, House Laurent, House Buvelle and House Spiritmight, those were the four pillars Demacia had been built upon and the foundation on which the Lightshield Dynasty rested. As the oldest son and heir of House Crownguard, Garen's official rank was Brigadier General, while his title as Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard stemmed from the fact that it was a special elite unit and held a separate ranking system than that of the Demacian army.

Jarvan let out a sigh. "Even so, will you still do it?"

Quinn studied him for a moment, before letting a small, determined smile grace her lips. "I'll see to it that the culprit faces Demacian justice your Majesty."

ooOoo

A/N: And that's it for this time around. This chapter is a bit shorter than the last two, still a good chunk of text though and I produced it in less than three weeks! Yeah… I'm trying to make it up to you for taking 3.5 months with chapter four. This chapter was fun to write, though still a challenge. It may seem like a sort of fill chapter, but like the previous one it introduces a lot of the elements that'll set up the future plot. Talon, Jarvan and Quinn have now been properly introduced and we finally got a name attached to our dear spy. Bet all of you had already guessed it was Lux though *wink *wink. Reviews, favorites, follows, any form of feedback really, are greatly revered, so feel free to leave some.

Ok, skippable lore and random trivia section here we go. So since a friend of mine got confused on the issue of heights in this story and lol in general, allow me to clarify. Ahem: Looking through champion trivia and so on when I initially did research for the very first chapter, I learned that Darius is 6 feet and 5 inches tall, equivalent to 196 cm… Now Garen does not have an official height as stated by Riot, but in this story, I have decided that he is 6 foot and 7 inches, equivalent to 200,6 cm. Jarvan is shorter than both of them. Why did I make Garen the taller one? Well, I'm obviously biased since he's my favorite, but also because when comparing their in game models, they are all roughly the same height despite the fact that Jarvan and Darius stand straight, while Garen is sort of crouched with his legs far apart… Hope that clears any future confusion. Lore-wise I have taken some liberties with this chapter (please don't kill me Quinn lovers). Part of Quinn's background includes a story of how she is sent by Jarvan to chase down an assassin, thought to be Talon, after a failed attempt on the King's life. See how my version is slightly different? In any case, I hope it's still bearable. By the way, does anyone know why Valor doesn't like Garen? The league trivia pages hold some seriously random facts sometimes, but rarely an explanation for them sadly. Anyways…

Until next installment:

~WhiteWinterDragon


	6. Sins of the Just VI

A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

So we reach number six and we are still going strong, pretty much only getting started. Thanks to all of you who took the time to review. I hope you guys will like this chapter too. Enjoy!

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter VI

Sins of the Just

Katarina was unsure what to think. The streets of Bilgewater were very different from the streets of Noxus. Here the smell of saltwater and seaweed permeated the air and the shrieks of the seagulls and ship bells were a core part of the town's melody. She let her gaze wander the many stalls and structures on either side of the alleyway. The buildings here were mostly made of wood, many of them haphazardly slapped together from what looked like various parts of what might have been ships and boats once.

Breathing in the salty breeze, she relished in its freshness. It had been a long day. Finding her barracks had not been too bad, but registration at the command central had taken up most of the afternoon. She wrinkled her nose with disdain as she thought of the many hours she had been forced to spend waiting in the overcrowded courtyard, filled with common, Noxian soldiers, many of whom would like nothing better than to test their mettle against a renowned soldier such as herself. Needless to say, she had had to break a few eggs – or noses more specifically. She scoffed. At least she had established her superiority. Those who had witnessed her little display would think twice before trying to provoke another fight and those who had been on the receiving end… Well they'd have to leave the infirmary before trying anything else.

The sound of laughter, music and cheers emanating from a tavern caught Katarina's attention as she continued her aimless walk down the half paved street. A worn, wooden sign, spelling: 'The Mary Mermade' in faded, golden letters, hung from the tavern's façade, swinging lightly in the wind. Katarina rolled her eyes, unsure which was more atrocious – the spelling or the cliché ring to the name. She shrugged before entering. Since she was going to be stuck in Bilgewater for at least another month while the preparations for the Ionian invasion were finalized, she might as well get to know the place and this seemed as good a spot to start as any. Besides, she could really use a drink.

The room was crowded, noisy and hot, as taverns tend to be and Katarina made a beeline for the bar ignoring a few dog whistles and less than gracious offers along the way.

"What can I get fer ye lassie?" The barkeep was tall, bald and packed a few more pounds than he should.

"Ale – the good stuff, not that horse-piss you serve those idiots." She gestured to a group of particularly drunken men. "They might not notice the difference, but I'll know and I won't be pleased." She kept her tone neutral, clear and only threatening enough to get her point across without causing a scene.

The barkeep raised an eyebrow, but did not otherwise seem bothered by her words. "Course lassie, but it'll cost ye."

"I can pay," she said sliding him a few coins across the counter.

The barkeep took the money, nodded and sauntered off, only to return a moment later, carrying a large mug of ale. "Dark, Demacian ale, best o' the best," he said as he slammed the mug down on the counter in front of her, spilling some of the white foam. She did not miss the glint in the barkeep's eye, nor the slight twitch to his lips. She glanced at the dark, bordering on auburn liquid with a slight sneer of disdain. _Demacian ale…_ The irony was not lost on her. Still, she had paid good money for it and that barkeep looked much too smug already, so she took a proper swig of her drink. She would never admit it out loud, but it was indeed the best ale she had ever had. Apparently Demacia was good for something after all. The barkeep watched her intently as she got her first taste, raising his eyebrows questioningly, when she put the mug back down. "Well?"

"This will suffice," she said coolly. The barkeep gave her a broad grin; some of his teeth were missing.

"Holler if ye need anythin' else," he said before lumbering off to serve another customer.

Now that she had her drink Katarina took the time to get a proper look at the room she was in. It seemed the 'Merry Mermaid' was a gathering place for all sorts of people, right from the gutter-goers looking for cheap drink to the 'respectable' men looking for expensive company. Between the average Bilgewater sailor, fisherman or trader, she wondered bemusedly which were engaged in piracy – probably all of them on some scale. The life of Bilgewater was dictated by coin. It was a city where people could make their own fortune, unhindered by the confines of a strict law. As a Noxian, having the freedom to make the most of your life with your own two hands was an ideal Katarina could appreciate. Yet, the lack of order was problematic. Loyalty and discipline were important for efficiency and Bilgewater was sorely lacking in terms of both.

An infectious, cheerful laughter cut through the noise of the crowd and put an end to Katarina's musings. The source was a woman. At a guess Katarina would say she was probably a few years older than herself. Thick, red, wavy locks fell graciously from her head. Her lips were full and stretched into a charming, inviting smile. Her clothes hugged her curves and modesty was probably a word she didn't know. Judging from the crowd surrounding her, she was well-liked and looking at the way she moved, she enjoyed the attention. Katarina took another sip from her ale. The little display reminded her somewhat of her younger sister, yet the redhead before her possessed an honest cheerfulness that Cassiopeia lagged. Still, Katarina was intrigued. Whatever the woman's story was, she seemed to command some respect, for although she was flirtatious, charming, even challenging in her behavior, people were unusually well-behaved around her, given the circumstances. Of course she did have a pair of guns strapped to her hips, but Katarina still got the sense that there was more to this woman than what mere appearance could tell.

Katarina continued to observe quietly from her spot by the counter as she continued to nip at her drink. She was starting to lose interest, when a man amongst the other redhead's crowd of admirers caught her attention. His eyes were darting around the room, too restless to linger for long in any one place, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and his neck and she could see from the way that his nostrils flared that his breathing was too quick. All were telltale signs of a man who was about to do something stupid, desperate and probably dangerous. The man downed his drink in one go for, what Katarina assumed must be, some much needed liquid courage, before procuring a small leathery pouch from inside his vest. He then proceeded to pour its powdery contents into the other redhead's drink. _Amateur…_ It was so painfully obvious that Katarina was surprised no one seemed to notice. For a moment she considered letting the whole ordeal play out without interfering. Hell, the redhead almost deserved what was coming to her for failing to notice that her drink had been tampered with. Then again the poisoning was so poorly executed it was practically an insult to her craft. Katarina bit at her lip, as she finally made up her mind, crossing the room with a swift stride and grabbing hold of the other redhead's wrist just as she lifted her mug.

"Wouldn't drink that if I were you."

"Oh? And why is that?" She met Katarina's gaze evenly, her ocean blue eyes revealing nothing of her thoughts.

"Your friend decided to spice it up a bit," Katarina said nodding towards the culprit, who had practically frozen, his skin almost turning ashen in color as she spoke.

"Is this true?" The woman's voice was sweet, almost soothing, but there was a hardness too, a glint in her eyes that Katarina knew all too well. There would be no mercy.

"O-of course not! I…"

"Who sent you? Marcellus?"

"No! No I…"

"Buck? Fisher? Chantelle? Sharkbait?"

The man was practically sobbing now, his breathing racket and fast, bordering on hysterical.

"Gangplank?"

A small, pathetic wail escaped the man's throat and he started whimpering something unintelligible.

"Drink." It was not a request, but a command. The woman held the beverage out to him, one of her guns already firmly grasped in the other hand. She drew the trigger slowly, deliberately. His hand shook, as he took the mug from her. He took one last glance around, probably hoping for some miracle, but no one came to his defense, heck only the people in their immediate vicinity were even aware of what was happening the rest were partying on none the wiser.

To most people, watching a crying man chug down poison to a backdrop of merry backwater music would probably feel somewhat morbid. Katarina was not most people. Her father had instilled in her early that death was something one should face head on. And so she barely batted an eye, as the would-be-killer fell to the floor, foaming at the mouth, his body seizing in his final moments. The other redhead made a chastising clicking sound with her tongue. "Poor baby… I always said that fortune doesn't favor fools," she said, almost regretfully, before turning her attention towards Katarina. "I believe I owe you my thanks hun. Sarah Fortune's the name."

ooOoo

Lux pulled her cloak more tightly around her, as another cold shiver wracked her form and made her teeth clatter. They had been on the move for three days already and the majority of their journey was still ahead. Though they were travelling by a relatively large road, they made slow progress in the deep snow, as the horses practically had to plough their way forward. Lux glanced down at the enormous, black stallion she was currently riding. He did not seem bothered by the snow, eagerly moving a good distance ahead of the company despite having to carry an extra rider.

"How are you holding up?" Garen asked quietly from directly behind her, concern seeping into his voice.

"I'm alright, just a little cold," Lux said, sending him a small smile over her shoulder to reassure him. Her brother frowned at her, looking very unconvinced before letting out a sigh and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close in an attempt to shelter her from the harsh wind and share what little warmth he could.

"We will make camp in about an hour. Think you can manage until then?"

"Sure."

"I'm afraid it'll be at least another two weeks before we are back in the capital. It'll be good to finally have a proper meal and a warm bath."

"Yeah, great," Lux mumbled absentmindedly, not really sharing her brother's enthusiasm.

"What's bothering you?"

She smiled ruefully. "Nothing brother."

"Lux…"

"It's complicated."

"Want to talk about it?"

She didn't answer right away. While in Noxus, Lux had wanted nothing more than to return to Demacia, but now that she was actually on her way there, she was filled with a sense of dread. She loved her home, yet felt estranged from it. She would serve her country to her dying breath, yet loathed to do it from the shadows. She never wanted to be a spy, but what she wanted had never mattered. 'For Demacia' was just not enough for her, not anymore. She wondered if Garen of all people could understand how she felt. After all, he was generally considered a paragon of Demacian values – the values that she had found herself questioning more and more as she grew wiser. When had they grown so far apart?

Up until now Lux had refrained from sharing any details regarding the nature of her work, because she really didn't like to talk about it. It left her feeling empty and petty and angry and ashamed for thinking that way. She let out a quiet sigh and chanced a glance back at her brother. His expression was open and painfully honest, as he met her gaze, patiently waiting for her to decide whether or not she wanted to confide in him. Lux looked away, taking a deep breath, as she made up her mind. "I… I want to serve on the battlefield. Like a proper mage or maybe a strategic advisor. I don't want to work as an infiltrator anymore."

"You won't have to do anything you don't want to."

She let out a sad chuckle. She wanted to believe him so badly, but she dared not. "They enlisted me against my will you know. On the day I turned thirteen they came to the mansion." It was the first time she ever put words to that experience. Somehow it felt both terrifying and liberating to share it with someone who cared. Garen said nothing, and for that Lux was grateful, for she was unsure she could muster the courage to finish, if she was interrupted. "To polish my magic they said." Warm tears started to trickle down her face and even though she had been taught better self-restraint, at that moment she could not be bothered to feel ashamed. "I called out to mother, but she just stood there as they dragged me away. And I asked for you," she whispered hesitantly. "After they took me to the college, I asked for you many times, but you never came."

Garen remained silent even after she finished her brief recount. When he finally replied Lux was surprised to hear a softness in his voice that she thought had been long lost to the warrior he'd grown into. "I wanted to see you, but I was always told you were busy studying. After a while I stopped asking." He tightened his grip around her, hugging her closer, barely audible when he whispered: "I'm sorry Lux, I should have been there."

ooOoo

The sharp cry of an eagle resounded in the snow-covered valley. Quinn looked up, soon catching sight of Valor between the myriad of falling snow flakes. No matter how much time she spent with him, she could never get enough of seeing the majestic bird flying free. He was happiest out here in the wilderness and so she cherished every moment where duty didn't call for them to stay cooped up indoors. She was grateful to the Prince for giving them this chance to prove their worth. They would not let him down. For days now, she and Valor had been tailing the assassin who attacked Luxanna Crownguard. The course he had taken so far indicated that he knew well to stay clear of Golden Crossing where half of the Dauntless Vanguard was standing ready to cut him off. Quinn silently congratulated herself on deciding to veer off the road to pick up and follow his trail directly.

Valor let out another cry and Quinn held out her arm, calling: "Valor to me," in a soft-spoken voice. Within moments the eagle landed, playfully nipping at her fingers in a loving greeting. She laughed, at his antics, gently stroking his feathers. "So, what did you find?" Valor cocked his head and chirped before he set off from her arm and glided away, staying close to the ground and keeping a pace where Quinn could follow.

It didn't take long for them to reach what Valor had spotted. It was a body. Sprawled in the center of a clearing, the great pool of blood around it made for a stark contrast to the white of the otherwise undisturbed snow. Quinn drew her crossbow and moved forward cautiously, only to be surprised when she recognized the corpse upon closer inspection. This was the man she had been tracking.

The body was stiff and cold to the touch and a modest layer of snow was already covering him. At a guess Quinn estimated he must have died some time during the night. The cause of death was obvious – his throat had been neatly slit. Quinn took a good look around the clearing. The snow was almost pristine, no visible sign of a struggle. _Another assassin?_ It was the most likely explanation. The dead man's face was frozen in an expression of mild surprise, as if he'd barely even registered what happened.

Quinn searched the body for any sort of information, like a name, orders, letters, anything. In a fold of his cape she found a crumpled note with a small hand drawn map and some hastily scrawled directions. "This is..!" In her hand Quinn held what was a crude, but fairly accurate, map of Northglenn Garrison's interior, complete with instructions for the best way to slip in unnoticed. "We had better return to the capital and tell the Prince what we found here, don't you agree?" Valor flapped his wings and exclaimed an affirmative cry.

ooOoo

Talon paused before the ornamented oaken door that led to the private study of General Du Couteau. He had come here immediately upon his return to Noxus, not even taking the time to grab a bite to eat or change to a dry set of clothes – such trivialities could wait. He landed two heavy knocks on the door. "Enter." The General looked up, as Talon walked in, closing the heavy door behind him. "You're back early," he noted. "I take it all went well?" he continued, his tone easy-going and conversational, as if they were discussing the weather and not matters of high treason.

"I escorted the girl safely to a Demacian garrison in the Howling Marshes, where the Prince received your message. Last I heard, he was well on his way to the Demacian Capital, might even ride through the gates as we speak."

The General nodded. "Very good, well done Talon. Now I need you to…"

"General. Swain sent one of his own assassins to dispose of the girl."

"You are sure?"

"I overheard a Vanguard patrol speaking of the incident roughly a day after we parted ways. Apparently Crownguard sent half of his forces out looking when Swain's man botched his job."

General Du Couteau remained silent, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I did not want to run the risk that he might have learned something that could incriminate you, so I tracked him down and made sure he was silenced for good, but this means that Swain must have known where I was taking the girl from the start." Talon paused for a moment, ashamed that he would have to make such an admission. "That or I failed to realize we were followed the entire time."

The General scratched at his chin. "I find it more likely that Swain simply assumed she'd seek out her brother."

"Her brother?"

" Don't tell me you never bothered to ask her who she was?" the General added upon seeing Talon's slightly confused expression. Marcus Du Couteau let out a soft sigh. "The girl you escorted was Luxanna Crownguard, younger sister of Garen Crownguard."

The girl's unrelenting insistence that they head for a backwater garrison in the middle of the Howling Marshes suddenly made a lot more sense. "Even if that is the case, it might be wise for you to lay low for a while," Talon said quietly.

Marcus gave him a strange look and when he finally spoke, his tone was serious, almost grave, but not unkind. "Concern Talon? How very unlike you. I appreciate the notion, but there is no time to sit idle I'm afraid. Swain will stop at nothing to achieve his goals and I fear what that might entail for us all."

Talon clenched his fists and let out a frustrated sigh. "Then let me help, tell me what is really going on. Why are you trying to communicate with the Demacians? What is it Cassiopeia is supposed to find in Shurima and why are you keeping Katarina completely in the dark? Why…" Marcus held up a hand and Talon immediately held his tongue.

"The less you know the safer you'll be. For now, if you really want to help me, go to Bilgewater and meet up with Katarina. I will rest easier knowing that the Blade's Shadow is there to watch over her once the Ionian war begins." The General let out a tired sigh and for a moment he looked very old. "Keep my daughter safe Talon that is all."

ooOoo

Garen clenched his fists, fighting hard to keep his expression neutral and remain silent. Their audience was held in the throne room in the presence of the King and half of the Demacian council. The modest light of a clouded winter sky that fell through the tall windows on the east-facing wall made the room seem bleak and grey. Garen chanced a quick glance at his parents seated amongst some of the other representatives of the major noble houses. Albeit a little pale, his mother looked sublime in her dignified indifference, untouchable and unfeeling like a statue of cold marble. His father looked more thoughtful, his expression bordering on grave as he looked down on them. "I sent word ahead of us by bird, it should have arrived weeks ago," Jarvan said, his voice calm and clear despite the anger Garen could sense bubbling just below the surface.

"We received your message your Majesty," the gruff voice of General Gaius Malcavian, the father of Garen's Lieutenant Bakaris and head of house Malcavian, echoed in the room. With his grizzled features and full beard he didn't resemble his son much, but their pointed chin and nose and beady, piercing eyes were exactly the same.

"And yet there has been taken no action to aid the Ionians. Why is that? Must they come to us crawling on their hands and knees and beg for our help before we bother to act?"

"Jarvan mind your tongue, when you speak to your superiors," the King said curtly.

"No offense was taken my Lord," Gaius said smoothly. "To answer your question Prince Jarvan, no action has been taken, because we do not rush blindly into war based only on the words of a little girl. For all we know, it might be a trap."

Garen took a step forward, his blood was about to reach the boiling point. How dared he make light of Luxanna's credibility. "General, Jarvan and I would not have rushed all the way here, if there was no evidence to support Luxanna's report. We have had no notable Noxian activity in the Marshes since we apprehended them at Andras nearly three months ago and we have received reports of similar conditions in other border regions as well. The Noxian forces have been pulled elsewhere and a war against Ionia would explain this state of events."

"Of course if you want additional confirmation, I am sure we can spare some adult infiltrators, because I am sure no one in this room support the idea of sending a child on that kind of mission, correct?" Jarvan interjected with particular emphasis on adult and child. An uncomfortable silence followed this bold statement. Jarvan had always been good at making smart-mouthed comments that, more often than not, hit a little too close to home and Garen did not miss the variety of displeased and uncomfortable expressions amongst the councilmembers, as they witnessed this unexpected and rather unorthodox behavior from their Prince. Garen's mother in particular looked like she had taken a rather large bite out of a lemon. While Garen was grateful that Jarvan spoke so passionately on Luxanna's behalf, he was also worried, because Prince or not, this behavior would not be tolerated, especially not in the King's presence.

"Jarvan," the King said, his voice carrying a warning tone.

"My Lord, What the Prince means to say is…" Garen said, trying to diffuse the situation before it could escalate, but the King merely held up a hand to silence him, sending his son an expectant look.

"My apologies father, I merely find it ironic that we condone sending 'little girls', as you call it, deep into enemy territory to act as spies only to question the validity of their word specifically due to their young age afterwards," Jarvan said coolly.

This was the last straw. The King rose slowly from his throne, his expression was calm and dignified, but his eyes gave away his rage. "I believe we have lent ear to quite enough from you Jarvan. I expect you to keep your tone civil and uphold the same standard as everyone else and since you continuously fail to do so, you will await my summons outside this room. For now you are dismissed." The King's tone was harsh and cold as he glared down at them and the tension in the room was suffocating. Jarvan immediately turned on his heel and marched out of the throne room without bothering with common courtesy.

"Requesting permission to leave as well my Lord," Garen asked seriously.

"Granted," the King said after a short pause.

Garen bowed his head respectfully, before making a very brief salute and leaving in the same direction Jarvan had.

The sound of the massive doors closing shut behind him bore an unnerving note of finality, as Garen made his way into the adjacent corridor and found Jarvan seated on the cold, granite floor with his back to the wall. His visage was pale with beads of sweat and his gaze was rigidly fixed straight ahead. "Why did he throw you out?"

"He didn't, I wanted to keep you company and he permitted me to leave."

Jarvan shook his head slightly, a rueful smile on his lips. "Unbelievable," he said, letting out a long, tired sigh. "Remember that promise we made when we were… What six? Every time you do something stupid I get to punch you and vice-versa, that one?"

"Yeah I remember," Garen muttered, sitting down next to the Prince. "Want me to punch you right now? I think I owe you a couple anyhow," he added with a half smirk, as he gave Jarvan's shoulder a friendly jab in a vague attempt to cheer him up. Jarvan rolled his eyes at his childish antics, but smiled nonetheless and they fell into a comfortable silence.

It was nearly two hours before the doors to the throne room were opened once again, allowing the various councilmembers to file out and return to their respective posts. The last person to come through the doors was Xin Zhao the seneschal of Demacia. Being their former tutor Garen wondered what might be going through his mind, as he looked at the two of them sitting there on the floor in the exact same way they used to when they were just small boys waiting to get scolded for making trouble. Xin let out a sigh and shook his head slightly. "That back talking mouth of yours is still your greatest enemy," he told Jarvan sternly, but with an air of sympathy. "The King will see you now."

Garen gave Jarvan's shoulder a reassuring pat. "Want me to wait out here?"

"Actually, the King has requested your presence as well Garen," Xin added, giving an affirmative nod, when Garen sent him a perplexed look.

Xin did not follow them into the throne room, instead closing the doors behind them. Their steps echoed in the grand hall, as they made their way to stand before the King, who was currently engaged with some paperwork. When he finally decided to acknowledge their presence, it was with a look of disappointment. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked, addressing Jarvan.

"I…" Jarvan hesitated for a moment. "I apologise for the rudeness of my words, but I stand by them," he said though Garen could see his resolve was wavering under the scrutiny of his father's gaze.

"You forget your place Jarvan. You may be the Prince, but that does not entitle you to speak or act as you please. Demacian law dictates that until Luxanna comes of age it falls to her family to decide how she serves and you have no right to question their decision."

"So, Luxanna can have no say in this. How is that just?" Jarvan's tone was hesitant.

"Justice is not easily defined Jarvan. I am not pleased with Luxanna's predicament, but the law is the law and like me and Garen and Luxanna and any other Demacian citizen, you will have to accept it regardless of what you might feel about the matter personally. If you cannot do that, how do you expect to ever become an exemplar for your people?"

Jarvan remained silent for a moment, his gaze firmly directed at the floor. Garen couldn't help but feel bad for him. The Prince could be cocky and impulsive and his rather untraditional views and ideas often made him clash heads with the more conservative members of the nobility. But he was also kind and open-minded and most importantly he cared deeply for his people. As Jarvan's friend it saddened him that the King failed to recognise these qualities, because few things mattered more to the Prince than his father's approval.

The King let out a heavy sigh. "Jarvan, I want you to return to the marshes, take a moderate number of your men and confirm beyond doubt that the Noxians have relocated their forces. If possible, find out where. Also, while you are there, I ask that you note the respect with which your men treat you. Do not return before you can show your superiors the same. That will be all, you may go," the King said returning his attention to the document he had been working on when they entered.

"Yes father," Jarvan said, placing his right fist over his heart in a proper salute before turning to leave. Garen did the same.

"Garen, stay," the King said. Jarvan and Garen exchanged confused glances, but the King did not look up or pause his writing before Jarvan had vacated the room.

"My Lord?"

"You think I am being too hard on him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes my Lord."

The King slowly put down his feather pen. "He needs to learn what it means to be a King Garen. He will always be held to the highest standard by those who serve him, he cannot falter or compromise when he pleases, or he will seem weak. I always hoped he would learn from you in that regard, but even as a boy he had a talent for landing the two of you in all kinds of trouble."

"Pardon me my Lord, but as I recall, we were both very good at that."

The King let out a soft chuckle. "Your loyalty does you credit, but Jarvan will be King one day and he needs to learn how to act like one. As things stand, he is far too comfortable letting you take charge, when things go south, so he blunders ahead without tact and without thought. Therefore I would ask that you do not go with him this time. Stay in the Capital. The city watch is in dire need of some order and discipline."

"But my Lord, what if..?"

"Garen, my son needs to realize that he cannot always count on you to be there to clean up the mess he leaves behind. Even today during your audience, it was clear you were ready to cut in the moment he stepped out of line."

Garen did not deny it – it was true, at least to some extent. "I… Understand my Lord but..."

"Good. Then you are dismissed," the King said, leaving no room for Garen to argue any further.

ooOoo

Garen adjusted the scarf around his neck as he made his way through the palace gardens. Everything looked so different in the winter, every tree and every bush covered by a white blanket. His destination was a small, remote pavilion, well-hidden from view by a grove of ancient oaks. "I thought I might find you out here," Garen said, quietly, as he seated himself across from the Prince, who was currently engaged in a game of chess against himself. The board was made of onyx and white marble, every piece finely sculpted in the same materials. "You could have picked a warmer spot you know."

"Well you know me," the Prince said moving his white tower to take a black bishop.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Garen asked joining the game by repositioning one of his knights.

"What choice do I have, but to do as he says? When are we leaving?"

"I'm not coming." At this Jarvan finally looked him in the eyes.

"Why not?" he asked moving one of his pawns forward.

"Your father has asked me to shape up the city watch here in the capital," Garen said, placing his bishop so he could take Jarvan's tower in the following turn.

Jarvan moved his tower out of harm's way. "So I misbehave and you are the one who gets stuck with glorified guard duty? That's rich." He spread his arms and adapted a mock-superior expression. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the land of the just!" he exclaimed, taking his voice down an octave to exaggerate the grandeur.

"You shouldn't joke about such things," Garen said seriously, dragging his queen across the board. "Check."

Jarvan let out a sigh, moving his knight to stand between Garen's queen and his own king.

Garen did not hesitate to take the knight. "Check mate."

Jarvan nodded solemnly, toppling his king and picking up his knight. "Actually, I'm glad you are staying," he said quietly. "It's the knight's duty to protect the king and with everything that's happening I'll breathe easier knowing you'll be here to keep him safe," he said handing Garen the piece before he got up and left without another word.

Garen stayed behind, studying the little, white piece in his hand intently. _'It's the knight's duty to protect the king.'_ Garen looked at Jarvan's disappearing form. "Yes it is," he said quietly, closing his hand around the chess piece. "But my King is not the one staying in the capital."

ooOoo

A/N: And it's done. Most challenging chapter so far I think, so many jumps in scenery and all those serious conversations. God it's difficult to write King Jarvan as strict, without making him sound like an utter douchebag. Also there was quite a lot of development to set up on terms of character relations. Garen and Lux for instance will have to go through a lot before theirs can get less strained, even if they care deeply for each other, they see the world differently. The friendship between Jarvan and Garen is a lot more established and I like the dynamic it creates between them to have Garen being the by the rules guy, while Jarvan is the more open-minded of the two. Talon and General Du Couteau have a complex relationship to say the least, because Talon is quiet, efficient and fiercely loyal and holds a deep respect for the General. Overall this is actually the shortest chapter yet. I had to cut it early, because I have to go away for a week and I thought I'd kept you all waiting long enough already. As always, reviews would be nice, I love to hear your opinions and overall feedback. It'll be a week or so before I can reply to them though.

Take care all and enjoy your summer, until next time.

~WhiteWinterDragon.


	7. All the Best Laid Plans VII

A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

And here it is. Chapter seven, I know we are making slow plot progression, mainly because I'm taking forever to update, but soon all the pieces will be in place and the world will come crashing down around our dear OTP. Until then please bear with me. As always thank you to those who follow, favorite and review this story. I greatly appreciate your feedback. Enjoy!

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter VII

All the Best Laid Plans

Luxanna kept her gaze downcast, her expression blank and her hands neatly folded in her lap – a position she had held ever since the interrogation started. _An interrogation…_ She scoffed internally. For how long had mission reports felt more like interrogations? Though she was seated in one of the lush, silken armchairs in the Crownguard Mansion's foyer, it provided her with no comfort. It was not her home anymore, not really. Everything, from the shining, white marble floor, to the silken draperies and the intricate, gilded woodworks felt cold – cold and hollow. Like her mother who was currently standing off to the side of the room, her arms crossed and her face a taut, disapproving mask. Lelia had been furious upon learning that she had asked Garen of all people to sit through this as her confidante. Lux chanced a sideways glance at her brother, who was seated next to her, his hulking frame comically squeezed into a similar chair that was much too small for him. He did not bother to hide his growing annoyance, as the 'interrogation' continued into its third hour, looking very much like he wanted to throttle everyone. Lux had the decency to feel a small pang of guilt, for making him endure this, but was nevertheless glad that she had. Her brother had quite a presence and watching almost everyone else in the room tread glass around him helped make it all a little more bearable for its sheer comic value.

The man in charge of asking the questions, Sir William de Chalon, the head of the off-record part of the Demacian intelligence division was a rather gruff-looking man. His face had molded itself into a state of permanent frowning over the duration of at least half a century and his eyes were piercing and narrow and almost entirely hidden beneath his bushy, grey eyebrows. Lux had only encountered him briefly before, when she had been filing in reports on her infiltration progress. She could respect his professionalism, but had little like for him otherwise. He was harsh and stoic and a prime example of the empty shells that were the tragic results of Demacia's military indoctrination.

Sir William was flanked by two others. On his right sat Lady Cassandra Marvelle, a distant relative of the late house Vayne. She was somewhere in her mid-thirties, had dark hair and deep-set blue eyes that held a slightly nervous gleam. Lux was only vaguely familiar with her, as Lady Cassandra primarily served as a scribe and archivist for the Demacian court and her function in this, as in most other matters was merely to record the proceedings. On Sir William's left sat none other than General Gaius Malcavian, a longtime friend of her parents and Garen's immediate superior. According to Garen he had been one of the more vocal of the nobles during his and Jarvan's appeal to the Demacian legislative – questioning the validity of her information on the Noxus-Ionian War amongst other things. At a guess Lux assumed that his presence most likely meant that he wanted to hear her account for himself, she saw little other reason for him to be there.

"We only have superficial knowledge of Noxus' infrastructure. Surely there must have been more to such a miraculous escape?" Sir William's voice was dry and scratchy, like sand on old parchment.

 _You have no idea…_ "Like I wrote in my official report," Lux sighed; "I had help from one of the locals."

Gaius Malcavian let out a derisive snort, earning a sour look from Garen, which he pointedly ignored. "Come now Miss Crownguard, no Noxian has ever done anything out of the goodness of their heart. What were you asked to do in return for safe conduct?"

Lux could feel Garen tense up next to her and prayed that no one else noticed, because her brother couldn't lie convincingly to save his life. She kept up her neutral expression, adding a bit of exasperation just for theatrical flair. "I was saved on a whim, nothing more nothing less, at least that is the impression I was given. If there was some hidden purpose to it all, my savior certainly did not bother to share it with me." The lie came easily, she had been lying consistently for nearly half of her life and oftentimes she found that lies were more comfortable to deliver than the truth – a sad notion really. Jarvan, Garen and she were the only people who knew of the letter she had returned with and they had all agreed to keep it that way for now. Although it was vague, the possibility of treachery implied in it would no doubt incite an avalanche of scandals, accusations and mindless slander and the last thing Demacia needed right now was instability and power plays amongst the noble houses.

Sir William regarded her carefully for a moment, studying every detail of her face no doubt. Every flicker of her eyes, every bead of sweat on her brow, every stutter in her voice or hesitation in her words, any weakness would be instantly preyed upon. Lux had had worse – much, much worse. And so she gave him nothing, nothing but a polite, tired expression and a somewhat bubbly demeanor fit for a harmless teenager, who had no reason to lie and nothing to hide. The old man nodded slowly. "Can you tell us more about the man who helped you then Luxanna?"

Lux did not have to lie much this time. "He never told me his name, nor did he ever fully show me his face."

"You spent three weeks with him and never saw his face?" interrupted General Malcavian, his voice and expression more than just a little skeptical.

"He kept his hood up at all times, but was fairly adept at making fish stew, if that is any help?" Lux shrugged innocently.

"Unbelievable. Are you even taking this seriously?"

"My apologies General Malcavian, fact of the matter is that I can tell you precious little of value. The man who helped me escape was: young, average height, athletically built, quiet, very reserved and overall extremely guarded upon approach," she said, listing all the qualities that came immediately to her mind when thinking of the young Noxian who helped her. "While I wish he helped me for the sake of my blue eyes only, I got the impression that he was taking orders from a powerful individual, who, I assume, wanted me to reveal what I learned during the war council. Not everyone was in favor of the invasion you know." The room fell silent then, the only sound left being the furious scribbling of Lady Marvelle's feather-pen, which never seemed to pause. Lux took the silence as a good sign, her reasoning was sound and she had definitely given them something to think about. If nothing else she had at least managed to dodge the subject of the anonymous letter for now.

It felt like an eternity went by like that, before Garen, bless his soul, grew impatient and decided to speak. "Would that be all? Luxanna already supplied her written report. I'm sure you would have found the answers to most of your questions, if you had actually read it beforehand," he practically growled.

Lux had to suppress a smile. It was so like her brother to be blunt and direct to the point of being rude, even if he was merely stating a fact. Sir William looked positively offended, sputtering and muttering something under his breath. To be fair though, he definitely had read it. General Malcavian on the other hand was trying very hard to not seem too interested in the carvings of the table all of a sudden and Lady Cassandra actually had the decency to blush slightly.

"Look, it's getting late and Luxanna is still recovering, she needs her rest." Garen continued with poorly masked annoyance. _Half true,_ Lux thought, faking a well-timed yawn for emphasis.

"I suppose we have heard enough," Sir William obliged hesitantly, as he got to his feet. "If you remember anything else of importance, or have an idea who orchestrated your rescue," he turned to Lux, "you know where to find me."

"Yes Sir," Lux said, offering a small, polite smile that fit the situation. Garen too got to his feet, easily towering above their three 'guests', as he walked them to the door like any good, Demacian host. Their mother offered them her polite farewells, as could be expected and then vacated the room without a word. Good, Lux had no wish to deal with her right now.

Finally alone in the room, Lux let out a tired sigh and let her facade falter. How she hated pretending to smile for the world, it was immensely tiresome to always put on an act. On the other hand, she was too afraid to stop, too afraid to show people who she truly was and how she felt. Too afraid of breaking the illusion she had held up for so many years now it seemed even more convincing than those she could create with her magic. She would be a stranger to everyone – Even herself. Lux was so caught up in her thoughts she didn't hear Garen return to the foyer. "Gods, I thought they would never leave!" He exclaimed, throwing up his hands, almost making Lux jump out of her chair. "Don't ever make me do that again."

Lux shook her head at her brother's antics, before regarding him quietly for a moment. She was not ready to share everything, but tonight had been the first time in years she had ventured to reach out for support. It was a small step on what she knew would be a long and rocky road, but her brother had not let her down.

"What?"

Lux shrugged somewhat shyly. "I just want to say thanks I guess… For being here even though you hate these things."

"You know I couldn't say no, even if I wanted to right?" he said seriously, moving to stand before her chair and crouching down, so that he could look her in the eyes.

"I know," Lux whispered, as she let herself be pulled into her brother's bearlike embrace. It still felt somewhat strange being hugged like that, but she'd get used to it. With time it would feel just like it had back when they were small children and the world was a place full of wonder.

"Don't make it a habit though, or I swear I'll end up on trial for spontaneous mass-murder sooner or later. Probably sooner…" Garen added as an after-thought. For once, Lux didn't have to pretend to laugh.

ooOoo

Garen rubbed his brow tiredly and leaned back to stretch. By the time he had finally been able to escape the questioning, it had already been late, now it was well past midnight. He glared at the heaps of documents that lay neatly stacked on the desk before him, half wishing they would burst into flame and disappear. Then again, he was there of his own free will. The good thing about working at the City Watch at nighttime was that there was no one else around, so he could actually get some work done. There were no incompetent guards who needed scolding for slacking off, no stuck up nobles wasting his time with their petty complaints and no infuriating vassals around to ask him if he wanted lemon with his tea. He didn't even drink tea! Not that they cared when he told them. Garen stifled a yawn and tried to gather his thoughts enough to actually read, but found it utterly impossible. "What am I doing here?" he mumbled to himself, running a hand down his face in exasperation. For the past two weeks, ever since Jarvan had left the capital, he had been working day and night to reform the City Watch on record time, so he could return to the front, where he belonged. Guard patrols, training protocols and law enforcement were not so bad, but the bureaucracy… "Sweet mother Demacia," Garen said, as he filed away another pointless formula about gardening disputes in the lower city. "You'd think people had more important things to worry about than bushes."

"You would be right."

Garen got to his feet and grabbed his sword in one swift motion, almost knocking the massive, wooden desk over in the process. Across the room, a woman leaned casually against his doorframe, looking rather unimpressed by his antics. Her long, raven hair was pulled back in a thick braid and her skin was almost ghostly pale, as if she deliberately stayed out of the sun. She was dressed in dark, form-fitting leather from her feet to her neck. At her back she wore an unusually shaped, scarlet cloak and a massive crossbow of a unique design. To top it all off, she wore a pair of tinted, red shades, whether they were for style or held an entirely different purpose, Garen could only guess.

"No need for that, I'm just here to talk," the woman said in a calm, rather deep voice, eying the sword, before closing the door behind her and moving to his desk.

"I'll be the judge of that after you introduce yourself."

The woman rolled her eyes, or at least Garen assumed she did, before replying in a mildly annoyed tone: "Most people know me as the 'Night Hunter', but you may call me Shauna."

"Right… So, you are that vigilante?"

"You have heard of me then? Good that makes this a lot simpler, even if that description hardly does me justice." Though the shades kept her eyes concealed, Garen could feel her glare at him for his comment. He did not know much about the Night Hunter. In truth, no one knew much about her. A few scattered rumors of her accomplishments were all he had to go on and for the most part he was skeptical about what he had heard.

Garen pinched the bridge of his nose before sitting back down. This was going to be one of those nights. "Alright let's say, for the moment I'll give you the benefit of the doubt since you haven't shot me. Why are you here?"

"Straight to business? I think I might learn to like you after all. This mean anything to you?" Shauna said sliding a small piece of paper across the desk before taking a step back and looking at him expectantly.

Garen regarded her warily, as he picked up the note. A single word was scribbled on it: "DSS Excursion? No, should it mean something to me?"

Shauna shrugged, "depends," she said, then dropped a heavy book she had kept concealed beneath her cloak on the desk, "does the City Watch care about missing people?"

Garen picked up the book and started pilfering through the pages. "This is… how did you get this?"

"I borrowed it."

"Of course you did," Garen drawled. In his hand he was holding the annual harbor log. Ships, arrivals, departures, cargo and crew were all recorded in there. "So DSS Excursion is a ship?"

"Was a ship – Look at the entry for the first of July this year."

Garen went to the respective page and furrowed his brow in confusion. "It says here that it returned on schedule loaded with various Ionian goods… Including some illegally imported rice wine. Go figure."

Shauna nodded, "so why do I have on the plus side of ten families claiming that the ship and her crew never returned from the sea?"

Garen narrowed his eyes and made his way to the shelves lining the room. "Well, the Watch deals with every crime and outlying occurrence inside the capital. If the crewmembers were reported missing, there should be a record of it in here somewhere." He spent several minutes going through everything that had been filed in July, August and even June, just to be safe, but came up short. "Nothing," he said.

"I expected as much," Shauna shrugged, "someone went to a great deal of trouble to ensure that everyone forgot this ship ever existed."

Garen nodded. "Anything else I should know?"

"As a matter of fact there is one more thing. I have pinpointed the approximate location of where the ship disappeared to a Southern region of the Guardian's Sea, a few miles out from the shores of Bilgewater."

"So piracy?"

That was my initial thought as well, but that does not explain why the location bore traces of necromantic magic."

"What? You are certain of this?" Shauna merely nodded her face grave. Garen let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, I'll look into it. How can I find you?"

"I'll find you."

"That's not very helpful…" But the woman had already disappeared, as silently and abruptly as she had entered, leaving Garen with a lot more questions than answers. "Figures…"

ooOoo

Though it was early morning, the snow-covered, cobblestoned streets of Demacia's market district were already buzzing with life, as people milled to and from the various karts and shops, buying and hackling goods of all kinds, most of them probably preparing for the upcoming celebration of Snowdown no doubt. Quinn had no problem getting through the crowd, as people tended to keep their distance and give her space as soon as they spotted Valor, who was currently perched on her shoulder. Though Quinn greatly preferred the outdoors to the city, the heart of the Demacian Capital never failed to inspire wonder. The domed and spired buildings around her had an almost pristine shine, as the bright morning sun reflected off the snow. You could easily get lost amongst the many market-stalls and spend hours just looking at wares that came from all over the world. It was a strange reminder somehow that there was so much outside Demacia's walls and borders she had yet to see. Her business was not at the market though, she was headed for the Dauntless Vanguard Head Quarters in the hopes that someone there could tell her how she was supposed to get in touch with the Prince. She preferred to avoid having to go to the palace and ask for an official audience, if that was at all possible. Captain Crownguard would know for certain, but considering that she had technically disobeyed a direct order from him, well, she'd prefer to avoid him too and so she was a little bit anxious as she spurred her horse forward.

Upon reaching the infamous barracks of Demacia's most elite fighting force, Quinn's immediate thought was that something was amiss. Minus a few stationary sentries, there was no one in sight. No sparring recruits, no ongoing inspections, nothing. The Dauntless Vanguard never slept in late, so where were all the soldiers?

"Excuse me?" Quinn said, riding up to the two sentries guarding the entrance to the barrack's courtyard. "Where is everyone?"

The two guards eyed Valor warily and then made a brief exchange of confused looks. "The Commander ordered the Vanguard to return to the front alongside Prince Jarvan roughly two weeks ago Miss," said one of them after a moment's silence.

Quinn's heart sank. "So the Prince has returned to the Marshes?"

"That's right."

"Fuck!" The two soldiers almost jumped at her sudden, very unladylike outburst. "Sorry, I just returned from the same front this morning and I have some urgent news for him."

The soldiers exchanged another look, this time even more confused. Quinn could only imagine what they must be thinking. The words weird and scandalous came to mind. "If it's any help, the Captain is still in the Capital, maybe he can be of assistance?" One of them said hesitantly.

 _Just my kind of luck…_ Quinn was not fond of the idea, she was unsure how the Commander of the Dauntless Vanguard would take the news that she and the Prince had gone against his orders behind his back. But what choice did she have? In the long run Captain Crownguard would have had to be informed about her findings too, she had just hoped the Prince would have handled that particular part. She let out a heavy sigh. "Where can I find Captain Crownguard?"

"He should be at the City Watch Headquarters as we speak Miss."

ooOoo

Quinn stared at the wooden door before her. For two whole minutes now, her fist had been frozen midair in the process of knocking, as she tried to decide how she was going to deal with the Dauntless Vanguard's infamous leader. Valor let out an annoyed squawk and flapped his wings impatiently. "I know I know Val it's just, maybe we should just go back to the garrison and…" Valor tilted his head and regarded her intensely with his large golden eyes. "You're right," Quinn sighed. "He respects honesty right? I should probably just tell him." Valor made an affirmative chirping sound and nipped at her earlobe, making her crack a small smile. "Here goes nothing," she said, letting out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She knocked delicately at first, then with increasingly more force as the door went unanswered. "Uhh Captain Crownguard? You in there Sir?" Still no answer. _Okay this is weird._ Quinn tried the door handle hesitantly. Upon finding that the door was not locked, she proceeded to push it open and was met with a sight she could have never prepared for.

The room was an absolute mess, heaps of books were stacked all over and scattered documents and maps covered pretty much every flat surface, including the floor. This in and of itself was weird and unusual enough, considering that the Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard was notorious for keeping everything neat and orderly, but it paled in comparison to the fact that the person in question was currently fast asleep, facedown by his desk. Quinn was mortified. How was she supposed to react? She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The scene was comical for sure, but the Commander might not think so and she honestly did not want to put his humor to the test. She was considering just making a silent, hasty retreat, so that she might return later and pretend this never happened, when Valor ruined her plans by letting out an ear piercing screech.

Garen bolted upright in his seat, wide-eyed and ramrod straight. Quinn was at a loss for words, frozen in place by the horror and sheer absurdity of the situation she found herself in. The Commander's hair was poking comically in every which way and he had smudges of ink on his cheek from resting his head on the desk. They stared at each other in silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before Garen cleared his throat. "Well this is awkward."

"I can come back later if..?" Quinn stammered, pointing frantically at the door.

"No need, please sit," Garen said, rubbing his eyes, successfully smudging the ink around even more. Quinn eyed the chair she had been offered hesitantly, the seat was currently occupied by a large stack of papers about... Naval code? "Oh right," Garen mumbled, before leaning across the desk and casually swiping the documents to the floor upon realizing her dilemma. Quinn took the seat she was offered hesitantly and Valor left her shoulder in favor of a sunny spot on the window-sill.

"So, what brings you all the way to the capital ranger?"

"What? Right," Quinn muttered, wrenching her gaze from the ink-stains on Garen's face. "Please don't take this the wrong way Commander." _Oh what a brilliant way to start out Quinn, way to go!_ Garen leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow expectantly. "Uhh…" Valor let out a sharp chirp, as if saying: just get on with it. "The thing is, I tracked down the assassin who attacked your sister," Quinn said, rushing through the sentence in one breath. The Commander remained silent, regarding her carefully. His boring gaze made Quinn feel more than a little uncomfortable and she half wished that he would say something, anything to break the silence.

"Jarvan made you do it didn't he," he said after a minute or so of torturous scrutiny.

It wasn't a question, Quinn could tell that much from his tone, which to her surprise was quite neutral and not angry as she would have expected. "Did the Prince tell you?"

Garen shook his head. "He didn't have to. So, what did you find?"

Quinn was at a loss for words. Was that it? Not even a scolding, just straight on to the matter at hand just like that? "Sir I disobeyed a direct order?"

"Oh I'm sorry, did you want to get punished for insubordination?"

"No I…"

"Look, the way I see it, whatever happened was clearly important enough for you to come all the way here to report it, I assume you had hoped directly to the Prince?"

Quinn merely nodded, feeling her cheeks heating up, for being so blatantly called out on her exact intentions.

"Then, when you realized he's no longer in the capital, you came to me, despite knowing you would have to admit to my face that you went against my orders. Not many people do that Quinn."

Quinn shook her head and remained silent, unsure if he meant not many disobeyed him, or not many admitted to it. It was probably both.

The Commander let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "How about you just tell me what you found and I will assume you just followed the order you believed superior like any good soldier?"

Quinn could scarcely believe what she heard. He was offering her a way out. Maybe there was more to him than she had first assumed. She took a deep breath and nodded. "The assassin avoided the roads and stayed clear of Golden Crossing due to the Vanguard's presence, so Valor and I tracked him directly through the terrain. After a few days, we found him – well, we found his body, not far from the Serpentine. His wounds suggested he was killed by another assassin."

"Could be the same person who helped Lux escape Noxus," Garen muttered, looking thoughtful for a moment.

"Lux had help from a Noxian?"

Garen looked up, seemingly hesitant about what to say and Quinn suddenly got the feeling that there was a hell of a lot more going on than just an attempt to silence a spy. "Yes, my sister was rescued by a Noxian. His exact motives for doing so are so far unknown to us." Quinn didn't say anything but she could tell from the way he carefully picked his words that there was something he left out, something he wasn't telling her. She was in no position to demand answers, so she let the matter drop. For now anyway.

"There's also this," Quinn said handing Garen the map she had retrieved from the assassin's body. "I found this on the corpse." The Captain's brow furrowed and Quinn could not remember a time she had seen him looking so grim. She wondered briefly, if it would be alright for her to share her thoughts. He would not like what she had to say. "I think there might be a spy in the Vanguard, someone who has access to this kind of information," she supplied hesitantly.

Garen merely nodded then gave her an intense look she couldn't decipher. "I need you to do me a favor Quinn." Of all the things he could have said, this was not what Quinn had expected. "I need you to return to the Prince's side. As long as I am stuck here, my hands are tied and if the Noxians really do have a spy in my forces," Garen paused for a moment his hands curling into fists. "If they do have a spy in my forces, they will know that Jarvan is vulnerable right now and they will not hesitate to act upon that." He pulled out what looked to be a small, white chess-piece, a knight, and gazed at it for a moment before squeezing it in his massive hand. "After the scolding we got from the King he'll want to prove himself to his father. He'll be reckless Quinn, and he can't know what you are up to."

Quinn nodded. "I'll try my best Sir," she said. Though she didn't know him all that well, she had gotten the impression that he did not like her much, so she was surprised by the amount of trust he was willing to put in her.

Garen regarded her intently then looked to Valor. "Should anything happen, don't hesitate to send for me."

"Understood Sir."

ooOoo

It was cold and humid in the crypt, despite the many torches lining the walls. The ever present dull ache in his bad leg flared up all the worse for it, but he had learned to live with the constant pain – Learned to appreciate it in fact. It helped keep his mind sharp and focused and served as a constant reminder for the price of failure, the price of weakness. Speaking of failure… "Any progress on Project Rebirth Vladimir?" he rasped quietly, his words echoing in the vault-like room, as he addressed the flamboyant mage across the table.

"Sion has been successfully resurrected, but his mind is still shattered," Vladimir said, his voice guarded, clearly defensive.

"You promised me an undying, loyal soldier Vladimir. So far you have delivered an undead brute with no allegiance but his own base instincts."

Vladimir scoffed, a sly smirk creeping up on his pale lips. "I am a hemomancer, not a necromancer. I have to wonder, why did you choose to consult me and not Darkwill instead Swain?"

Swain did not miss the clever change of subject. Vladimir was not trying to avoid discussing Sion. He wanted to know of his intentions for Darkwill. Swain decided to indulge the younger man and answered his question honestly. "Darkwill is weak. He lacks the vision and the ambition to grant Noxus the glory she deserves. He prefers to hide behind the walls of his fortress, while the world forgets what it truly means to be a Noxian." He kept his tone neutral. Though it spurned him to see how Noxus had fallen under the rule of the current Grand General, showing such emotion would be a grave mistake, especially in his present company. Keep your friends close and your enemies guessing. It was one of Noxus' unspoken rules. He preferred to keep everyone guessing.

"So it's true then, you would see him gone?"

"Eventually yes, for the moment he still has his uses."

Vladimir met his gaze without wavering and Swain chose to keep his silence, giving the blood mage ample opportunity and time to consider his words. Eventually Vladimir broke their eye contact. "This invasion of yours then, is it the first step on the latter?"

"It is one step on the latter," Swain said dismissively.

Vladimir merely shrugged, clearly satisfied with his answer. Aside from some experimental weapons utilizing a blood virus he had developed, Vladimir had little interest in the coming war and Swain preferred to keep it that way. He looked to one of the other occupants in the room. "My Lady Elise, since Sion will be of no use to us in his current state I want you to…"

"I never said I could not restore Sion's mind," Vladimir interrupted, cockily brushing aside a few strands of silver hair. "If I had a proper medium to use for the ritual and amplify my spell, tempering his insanity should be a small feat."

"Very well, what do you need?"

"Just a bit of blood from the line of the man who slew him."

"Oh?" Interjected Le Blanc from the side, shifting in her chair, as the conversation finally caught her interest. "Would any Jarvan do?" she asked, looking to Vladimir.

"Do you have something in mind my dear?" Swain asked, intrigued, though he did not show it.

A devilish smile crossed the trickster's features. "The Demacian King and the Crown Prince have had a, shall we say falling out? Jarvan IV has been ordered to push into Noxian territory from their garrison in the Howling Marshes. His pride is wounded and he is eager to impress, if we dangle some bait he is very likely to leave himself exposed. What's more, his guard dog is currently tied up in the Demacian Capital. If we play our cards right, this could be a golden opportunity."

Swain nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose we could lure him in with the prospect of an easy victory and then crush him as soon as he is isolated." A small, thin smile found its way to his lips at the prospect. "I shall dispatch a force to handle this matter."

"There is something else I would like to discuss," Le Blanc said, eyeing the other two occupants in the room intently.

"Very well. Elise, Vladimir, leave us." If Elise took offense to being so casually dismissed, she did not show it, Vladimir on the other hand looked displeased, but vacated the room without another word regardless.

Now, as they were alone in the crypt, his advisor changed demeanor, her tone losing its playfulness. "It is as you thought. Luxanna Crownguard had help."

Swain merely nodded, when one of his assassins turned up dead in a Noxian back alley, he had assumed as much. His second assassin had yet to be return, which probably meant that he too was lying dead somewhere. "Any clues, as to who orchestrated her escape?"

Le Blanc sighed. "The girl has not been particularly forthcoming with details surrounding the man who assisted her. Either she is knowingly omitting information to protect him, or he took extreme care not to reveal anything about himself."

"He would have been a fool if he didn't," Swain said. "And the excursion to the Kumungu she took part in? How much do the Demacians know?"

A snide smirk grazed Le Blanc's lips. "The Demacians are under the impression that all this was tied to the Ionian War and the girl does not seem to realize the importance of what she witnessed in the Kumungu." She laughed mockingly. "Even after all that they fail to see the whole board."

"Good," Swain said, "I can deal with complications for the Ionian Campaign, but it would not be ideal for our enemies to know the scope of my plans yet. We cannot afford to be discovered at this early stage."

A nod was all Swain got in response. She liked to mock, but she knew well what was at stake. "I do not think Demacia represents the greater threat in that regard," she said seriously. "Whoever helped that girl could very well know more of what is going on than they let on." She paused, studying her nails silently for a moment. "If you are that worried about the Demacians, I could get rid of the girl. Poison perhaps, or an accident?"

Swain shook his head. "If we continue to target her, they are bound to realize that there is something amiss. No, for now, I merely want you to continue keeping an eye on things in Demacia."

"And what of the traitor?"

"I will deal with the traitor."

ooOoo

And that's it for the seventh chapter in this epic. I shall refrain from showering you all with excuses for why it took me so long to update and simply say, sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen. I almost want to call this chapter: 'The Plot Thickens' but since that is incredibly silly, I will settle for saying it here. The Plot Thickens! There I got that out of my system. I hope I was able to convey a believable Swain in the end, it is quite a challenge to let your reader enter the mind of your villain and let them share his thoughts without spoiling his masterplan and still make it all enticing enough to keep it interesting with vague hints. It was fun to try though. Other than that this chapter mostly serves to further establish relationships between characters and build up for future events. As always, review, favorite, follow, let me know what you think, I do take your opinions into consideration.

On that note, I received some questions in the reviews for the previous chapter and I never got down to answering them in a PM, so I'll supply them here for all to see instead. I'm thinking of the question about a possible romance for Lux and Talon. The way I see it, Lux and Talon can have very interesting interaction and character dynamic, when considering the nature and personality of the two. However they do not really have any interaction whatsoever in the lore and I am trying to stay as true to that as possible. If I am to include a romance for Talon, I would direct it more towards a Talon/Quinn, but it would not be a focus in this story, as the main characters are Katarina and Garen. I do love the Lux/Talon ship though and Talon/Quinn too, both are believable and both are charming in their own way. If it has any interest I could write a Talon/Lux standalone one-shot, let me know if that is a thing in the reviews. Another thing regarding character relations, as I see it Garen and Quinn have a generally unexplored dynamic and since I do not care much for the 'common vs. nobility' thing that most fanfics seem to push on them, I decided to go a slightly different route. To me, the two are very different, but that's a good thing. Quinn is honest to a fault, something Garen can probably respect even if she steps out of line to speak her mind. Garen is head strong and resolute, so he can benefit from someone like Quinn, who's bold enough to share her perspective on things, even if it makes her uncomfortable, and since Quinn is not unreasonable I believe she can probably see that there is a purpose to Garen's harshness as well. After writing this chapter I have half a mind to start a series about their wacky adventures as a mismatched pair of friends or something. Just imagine the two as a law enforcement partnership… I'm still laughing. Oh and that bush joke by the way… I have no regrets!

Now all that is left to say is: Until the next installment!

~WhiteWinterDragon


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